


Auburn, Golden, Raven

by Kamah



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Adolescent Sexuality, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Animal Abuse, Biting, Brother-Sister Relationships, Brother/Sister Incest, Child Abuse, Choking, Cutting, Dark Jon Snow, Date Rape, Drowning, Drug Use, Dubious Consent, F/F, F/M, Flawed characters, Fluff and Smut, Half-Sibling Incest, High School, Jon Snow is a Stark, Light BDSM, Oral Sex, Orgasm Denial, Out of Character, Polyamory, Public Masturbation, Public Nudity, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sansa-centric, Slut Shaming, Smut, Spanking, Suicidal Thoughts, Teenage Drama, Threesome - F/M/M, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-30
Updated: 2019-07-02
Packaged: 2020-04-06 05:31:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 62,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19056193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kamah/pseuds/Kamah
Summary: Desperate to be free of the addictions found in the darkness, Sansa seeks out professional help from therapist Dr. Petyr Baelish.She needs his help to fall out of love with her brother, who is getting married to another woman in three months.But before Sansa can move forward, she must deconstruct the past ten years of her life.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So..this isn't The Blue Vial (my unfinished season 6 Jon/Sansa story that I've neglected to update for too long). Sorry about that. I won't give a timetable for when I want to update it because I've failed to stick to a timetable in the past and it isn't fair to readers. I'll just say I hear the lovely comments asking for the story to be updated, and I haven't abandoned it. 
> 
> So about this story.
> 
> I have no idea what this truly is or why I felt so compelled to write it. I got inspired to write a modern Thrones fic years ago when I saw these images from Mike Wrobel.
> 
> https://moshi-kun.tumblr.com/
> 
> [](https://ibb.co/jZL5SVq)  
> [](https://ibb.co/029q704)  
> [](https://ibb.co/KjHNps2)  
> [](https://ibb.co/RhRVG25)  
> [](https://ibb.co/6b0j04L)  
> [](https://ibb.co/sWj1YYj)  
> I really thought it would be kind of fun to re-imagine the characters in a modern setting, and to put characters like Cersei and Sansa in high school together. So I spent a few years tossing the ideas for the characters around in my head. But the fire only recently found me to actually commit my ideas to paper (or word document). 
> 
> The world-building is kind of nonsensical in this (for instance, Christmas exists in a modern Westeros ) and the familial relationships are mostly re-imagined (for instance, Joffrey and Cersei aren't related. They are the same age as Sansa. And Jon is Ned Stark's son). Some of the characters are also a bit OOC, with only certain traits from their canon portrayals being emphasized. 
> 
> Hopefully it's not too rough.
> 
> Please take heed to the tags. This story contains disturbing themes and scenes that might be upsetting to read about. I'd suggest skipping if you have any aversion to reading about the themes or subjects listed in the tags. 
> 
> If I had to classify this as anything, it would be a Sansa character study. Not any particular ship. 
> 
> Also, everyone is flawed. Everyone. (Especially this writer). 
> 
> With that out of the way...

"Well Miss Stark, looks like we have reached the end of our hour," Dr. Baelish said. The therapists hands were steepled and his smile looked forced.

Sansa Stark forced her own smile. "Guess you can move on to someone more interesting," she said while gathering her Gucci bag from the floor. 

"What makes you think you weren't interesting?" he asked, his voice measured. 

"I know you didn't spend years studying psychotherapy to listen to privileged rich girls whine about their rich girl problems," she said, sliding her $3,000 sunglasses over her blue eyes. "Though at this hourly rate, unless you're giving out coupons, your clientele is probably exclusively privileged rich people whining about their rich problems."

The well dressed, well groomed mental health professional sidestepped her comment, but leaned forward. "I noticed that you've mentioned the word 'privilege' several times. Is your 'privilege' a source of shame for you?"

"Wow, what a great insightful question, doctor," Sansa smirked. "But I'm afraid we've reached the end of our hour."

"You're right," the therapist conceded, before standing up from his chair. "I'll leave that question on the table for next week."

"Actually, I think we can table it for good," she said as she rose to meet the brown-eyed, brown-haired man that she'd learned was nearly 20 years her senior. She was taller than him in her heels. She was taller than most guys in her heels. His stature didn't diminish him though. His presence, his certificates on the wall, his confidence and intelligence all loomed very large in her mind. But that wasn't enough for her. "I don't think I'll be coming back."

"Really. I'm sorry to hear that," Dr. Baelish said. 

She didn't want him to think it was anything he did wrong. "It's not you. You were fine, but this whole talking out my problems with strangers thing just isn't for me. We spent an hour talking about this and that, going nowhere, and it just felt like a waste of my money and your time."

He made a gesture of understanding with his face. "It was only the first talk. It's normal for first talks to be a bit uneventful. You're learning to trust me. I'm learning what questions to ask you. It's a process. But it can be very rewarding if you give it time."

Her keys jingled in her hand as she turned on her phone. He'd made her turn it off to begin their session. She had three missed calls. None from Robb. None from Jon. "I know all about the process. My brother was in therapy most of his life. He's yet to be rewarded."

"Yet you still decided to try therapy. Why is that?" The look on his face was curious for answers, but not desperate for them. His coolness amused her. 

"Am I still on the clock?" she teased, looking past him at the clock on the wall. They were a minute over now. She found it amusing to tease the therapist about his exorbitant hourly rate. 

"Sansa, you came here for a reason. And you decided to spend our hour together joking around to avoid the actual reason you wanted to be here. And now you're using that as the justification to blow this off. I don't want to let you leave thinking you sincerely gave this a chance. You're running away, which of course is your choice. But I don't want you to run. I want you to confront the reason why you're here."

She could feel her joints tighten as she looked at this short middle aged man. His coolness irritated her.  "Don't presume you know anything about me, Petyr Baelish. I'm not a coward. I know why I came here. And I know why it was a mistake. This entire therapy bullshit is performative nonsense. It isn't going to help me. I'm sorry, but it's not."

She gave him a hard, certain look before turning to walk away. He spoke only after she opened the door to leave his office. 

"I'm leaving the hour open for next week, in case you change your mind."

She stood there for a beat and closed the door. 

She turned her head to him as he stood near his desk. She didn't know what to make of the measured look on his face. But she was tired of him looking so calm and collected. His coolness offended her. She wanted to force that look off his face. She wanted to break him. 

She walked up to the doctor and looked down on him from three inch high stilettos. It made her feel powerful, in control, a feeling she desperately wanted to feel more often in her daily life. She made sure to take the dark shades off her face so that she could clearly look into his eyes and watch as they withered. "You want to know why I came here Dr. Baelish?"

He matched her powerful presence with his own masculine energy, and stared at her, unflinching. He didn't answer her question. But he didn't need to for her to feel compelled to tell him. 

"I'm in love with my older brothers," she blurted out to another person for what felt like the first time. But the relief she wanted to feel from the confession didn't come. She eyed him, he eyed her back, and her anger grew. He needed to hear more. She needed to tell him more. "I have sex with both them. Dirty, filthy, unholy sex. I fuck them better than any whore ever could. A coward would never admit that to you. I'm not running away from who I am. I know what I am. I don't need you to tell me. I don't need anything from you. So get your little secretary out there to cancel my account and go ahead and fill in next weeks hour with another rich millennial that you _might_ be able to help confront their demons. Okay?"

Sansa Stark walked out of Dr. Baelish's office feeling as if she had won their exchange. 

*****

"Hello Sansa Stark. This is Ros from Dr. Petyr Baelish's office. I am calling to remind you that you are scheduled for a session with him at 2PM on Friday. Please call ahead if you are going to be late or if you need to reschedule the appointment. Thank you and I hope you have a wonderful day."

"Fucking asshole," Sansa hissed after hearing the voicemail.

Arya Stark, her 21-year-old sister wiped sweat from her face with a hand towel. "Who was that?" she asked curiously. 

"Nobody important," Sansa replied to her little sister as she deleted the voice message.

Arya chugged from her water bottle before saying, "Have you talked to Jon about the wedding?"

It was eerie how her sister had evoked the root of her bad mood. Eerie and unsettling.

_Fuck the wedding._

_And fuck Jon._

She wanted to say that. She burned to release those feelings. But she couldn't say that without exposing herself. She couldn't say it to her sister at least. 

*****

"So what does your literature say about sisters that fuck their brothers? Can they be salvaged?" Sansa asked Dr. Baelish. 

"Salvage implies that one is lost or broken because she makes love to her brothers," he answered. 

"Come on. Don't for one second pretend as if this is normal or healthy. Of course I'm broken. Whole women don't fuck their brothers. Incest is disgusting. And dangerous. So dangerous, if you had two children and caught them kissing, you would probably split them apart for the rest of their childhood." As she sat in silence, she heard his words playing in her head. "And who said I make love to my brothers anyway? I said I _fuck_  my brothers. Or used to anyway."

"You also said you were in love with them," he said. "I'm trying to square your romantic feelings for your brothers and the actions you have taken to satisfy those feelings. Would it be fair to say you make love to them? Or used to, anyway?"

"Say make love if it makes you feel better. I thought we were here to be raw and honest, not use euphemisms."

"I'm happy to use whatever words you feel best describe your feelings," he said. "So you used to _fuck_ your older brothers. And you feel this makes you broken. Was the sex consensual?"

Sansa laughed. "Is that the variable that matters? If my older brothers took advantage of poor little me, only then is incest a problem? Only then would I be allowed to say I'm broken without you pretending like I'm being too hard on myself?"

"You're reading motivations into my words that aren't actually there," he told her. "I'm just after the facts as you see them, Sansa. Was the sex between these older boys consensual?"

She thought about the first time with Jon. And the last time with Jon.

She thought about the first time with Robb. And the last time with Robb. 

She thought about being choked, and bitten, and slapped, and whipped. She thought about being called a dirty whore. She thought about the tears and the screams.

She thought about the mind blowing orgasms and passionate lovemaking.

She thought about the dinners, and flights, and fights. She thought about the vacations, and vomiting, and anxiety of being caught. The breakups. The makeups. The years of angst and addiction. The years of butterflies and laughter. 

She thought about the all of the complicated layers to love and sex and darkness that made her question her own ability to assess her relationships with her brothers objectively. 

"Is there even such a thing as consensual incest between siblings that grew up together?" she asked the one professional in the room. This wasn't her first time looking into the subject. She wasn't ignorant about why the forbidden fruit was justifiably forbidden. "Isn't there a power dynamic that makes it impossible for a little sister to consent to fucking her older brother?"

"Power imbalance, coercion, manipulation, and grooming are certainly subjects we will address," the doctor assured her with a voice that told her he'd already considered the substance of her question,  but was only going to talk about it when the time was right. "For now, I want to know if you _wanted_ the sexual relationship you shared with these boys."

She shook her head. "You're not gonna find scapegoats or obvious monsters to make this less complicated," she told him. "You might be surprised who the villains actually are."

She waited for a response. He gave her nothing. Her let her sit with her thoughts. Her thoughts were loud, and his stare was heavy. She realized how hard it was to sit in silence in the room. She thought about the last question he asked, and felt compelled to answer it better than she had the first time, if only because she couldn't take the silence. "Did I want it? Yes, I wanted it," she said. She had to keep talking to get away from the umcomfortable sound of the air conditioning pushing air into the room, and the tick of the clock. "I still want it. But my wants were complicated. Their wants, probably even more complicated. Your first inclination is to indict them for manipulating and grooming me, but maybe little sister was the groomer?  Maybe I've been grooming them to find me appealing? Because it didn't start out with them wanting to fuck me. I _made them_ want to fuck me. Slowly. Against _their_ wills. And even then, Robb didn't want to fuck me the way Jon wanted to fuck me. And Jon didn't want to fuck me the way I wanted to fuck him. "

More silence followed. "And before you ask, yes there was violence involved. But it was violence I sought after. It was violence I craved and coerced. Violence I still crave."

She could see very clearly from the look on his face that she wasn't making it very clear for him. She was being pedantic about trying to answer his question from every possible angle, and also prevent him from drawing conclusions about who were the victims, who deserved sympathy, and who deserved to be villainized. But without any details, she knew she must have sounded incoherent and possibly insane. 

"I'll make it simple for you, Dr. Baelish. The past ten years, I was sexually involved with one or both of my older brothers. And through all ten years, I consented to every blowjob, every handjob, every instance of vaginal and anal intercourse. And there were a lot of instances of that. And it was always, always, always what I wanted."

"Thank you for that," he said. "Though I'll note it could have been even simpler had you just said 'yes' to the question. Your...scattershot answer suggests you read more ambiguity into your relationship with them, at least as it relates to consent."

"Aren't you the one that's supposed to be assuring me that this isn't black and white?" she asked. "Why are you chiding me for wanting to paint with broad strokes and all of the shades of grey that this is? Isn't that how this works? Aren't you the one that's supposed to clean up the mess of a picture I paint, and draw it out in finer detail?"

"I'm just noting that I asked was the sex consensual, a very direct and pointed question. And you sat there for several moments without answering. When you did answer, you equivocated, preemptively created a defense for them, and deflected for me to decide _for you_ if your own feelings mattered more than a textbooks definition of incestuous consent." 

The doctor 's voice had some fire to them now. "I'm not a detective. I'm not a prosecutor. I'm not here to indict. I'm not here to be the moral arbiter of your sexual relationships with your brothers. I'm here to validate your feelings as meaningful. I don't want you getting ahead of yourself and trying to fit your feelings around what you presume a book says about your sexual history. I want to know what you felt. That your feelings and thoughts about the consensual nature of the relationships aren't black and white, is worth noting."

"Dr. Baelish. Before I had my first kiss, my brother gave me my first orgasm," she said, her voice not as calm as she tried to make it sound.  "I can't articulate that experience into a simple yes or no, black or white answer. I don't think I'm equipped to decide if what I thought was perfectly acceptable at 13 can or should be read that way now ten years later. That's why I'm here, not to validate feelings I've felt since before I hit puberty. I'm here for the grown up feelings I want to have."

"And what are the feelings you want to have?" he asked.

"Normal feelings," she said.

She waited for him to ask her to elaborate. But he let his silence speak for him. His eyes so focused on her was strong enough to pull out feelings that felt deep rooted in her soul. 

"I want normal, healthy feelings. I want a sexuality that doesn't revolve around the scent of my brothers, the sounds of their voices, the feel of their fingers on my skin, or the taste of their cum." She felt the weight of his eyes on her, and she started to feel small. Feeling small made her want to be even more audacious. No use in hiding now. She was no coward. "I love the taste of their cum. Jon's cum is a tad bitter. But Robb's cum is deliciously sweet. I could suck his cock for hours. I did occasionally."

She looked for him to squirm in his seat and recoil from the harsh truth of her words. But he remained unfazed, leaned forward with his hands clasped. What was wrong with him? She just admitted that she enjoyed the taste of her brothers semen. Say something!

But he said nothing. And that made her want to be even more audacious. 

"And you know what? Robb's diet must be godly because the consistency of his jizz is just perfect. It's not too runny or too thick. It really goes down smooth, like a latte. Way better than any of the other loads I've swallowed. My pardon for the digression, I think I just want some coffee."

His eyes never moved from her face, but the shape of his lips changed, perhaps because he saw her as the disgusting woman she felt like. It was almost nothing, but at least it was somewhat of a reaction.

_So what do you think about that, Mr. Cool? What do you think about me?_

"We can do this however you want, Sansa," the psychiatrist said. 

"What does that mean?" 

"You can spend our hour trying to shock me, or you can spend it trying to be productive. I think being open and honest would be a lot more productive."

"What are you talking about? I am being honest. I'm an open book. I thought that's what we do here. Share everything unfiltered. Blunt and raw. Are my thoughts TMI for you?"

"In my opinion, you're not being honest or open. You're being irreverent about your feelings and flippant about sex and mistaking it for honesty. I believe you are trying to be as off-putting as possible about your feelings for these men because you fear that I won't see your feelings and sexual history with them as valid. I think you want me to judge you. I'm not here to judge you. I'm not a conduit for you to judge yourself. This exercise is not about judgement or condemnation. It's about empathy and understanding."

"You really think you can empathize with an 23-year-old girl about her decade of incestuous relationships?"

"I believe I can empathize with anyone. I wouldn't do this job if I believed I couldn't." 

She half chuckled at his sincerity. "Dr. Baelish: I can empathize with anyone. Nice elevator pitch."

He didn't smile. He didn't frown. His cool apathy exhausted her. 

"Okay I'm sorry. I'll try not to be 'flippant' or 'irreverent'," she sighed. "I just don't know how to talk about this. It's not something I've ever talked about. I lost my best friend because I refused to talk about this.  I don't know how to do it."

"It's okay," the therapist told her softly, his eyes kind. "We'll learn how to approach this topic together. We'll go at a pace you're comfortable with. There's no deadline, no hurry. You don't have to rush through every emotion or give me every detail all at once."

"Actually, there kind of is a deadline," Sansa said. "I need to be normal by September. My brother is getting married in three months. I'm expected to be there for the wedding. I'm expected to behave myself and be happy that he's found true love. I'm expected to be a supportive sistter, not a scorned lover. I utterly failed the last time I tried to be that. I embarrassed myself. Badly."

She took a moment to distance herself from the painful memory of Robb's wedding. She tried to shake away those dreadful memories. "I don't want to feel anything for them anymore. That's the urgency you hear, Doctor Baelish. That's why I'm here."

"That makes a lot of sense," he told her with a nod. "I'm going to help you get there." He set a box of tissues on the table in front of them, anticipating that this was going to be emotional. She wanted to scoff at the gesture, but she knew deep down that she'd probably end up using the entire box by the time she was done expressing all of the pain she felt inside. Once he adjusted in his chair and crossed a leg over his knee, he smiled. "So tell me about your brothers."

She gathered a breath and brought her hand to her heart. There sat the necklace that was given to her by Robb. The heart shaped necklace that contained a locket. She opened the locket, where there was a photo of Sansa and her dog Lady. The picture showed Sansa at 6-years-old, a head full of long, wavy red hair, hugging her beautiful grey and white puppy. Sansa always smiled in her photos, a habit born from her desire to never appear unhappy. But this smile, captured the day she received her puppy hadn't been feigned or rehearsed. This smile was as bright and vibrant and real as they came.

Lady was gone now. She'd been gone for almost five years. But Sansa kept the dog close to her heart, in the locket. But her dog wasn't the only loved one that Sansa kept close to her, in that locket. It wasn't the only severed relationship she missed with every fiber of her being.

Behind the photo of Sansa and Lady was another photo. A secret photo, hidden in plain sight.

It was a photo taken from a photo booth in the mall. Her hair was blonde, her lips were green, and her cheeks were red. She was laughing. Brilliant belly laughter. Jon was kissing her right cheek. Robb was kissing her left cheek. 

Sansa handed the locket to her doctor. It felt momentous. Exciting and revealing. She'd never shown anyone the photo before, even though it was one of her most cherished possessions. It survived the fires. It survived her attempt to destroy it. And she couldn't bear to let it go again.  

It was after her breakdown at Robb's wedding two years ago that prompted Sansa to start the fire in the barrel. She gathered clothes, shoes, bags. Everything that reminded her of him, of them, and she tossed them in the fire to watch them burn. She found every photo and tossed them into the fire, crying as she watched the only tangible proof that what they had was real turn to ashes.  

The next morning, when she went to empty the barrel of charred ashes into the trash, she found that one of the photos had survived. She was astonished, even a little terrified when she saw that the photo had miraculously survived being burned. It was a little charred around the edges, the color looked a little bled, but what mattered was the moment in time was still alive. She was laughing, and her brothers were kissing her cheek. And she was so happy. 

She retrieved the photo from the burnt memories and cried, agonizing over what she should do with it. When she came to the decision to lock the photo away inside her locket, hidden behind Lady, she knew she'd chosen the wrong option.

But it was fitting. She'd chosen her brothers every time. It was all she knew how to do. 

"You had blonde hair then," Dr. Baelish spoke, breaking her thought, which fortunately stopped her in mid emotional moment. 

"Yeah, I dyed it my junior year," she said. She thought back to the situation that made her want to change the way she looked. From the sweet innocent Sansa she'd always been, with her signature auburn hair, to the golden curls of a party girl. "I wasn't always like this," she told her doctor. "I wasn't always 'irreverent' or 'flippant.'  There was a time where I was thought of as the sweetest, demure, meek, kind little girl. I prayed every day, and was just the apple of my parents eyes. My dad called my his Sweet Sansa. My mom called me her perfect little girl. But then I stopped being that.  And I dyed my hair blonde to complete the transition."

"And when did you dye it black?" he asked, picking up his gaze to find her face.

She moved a strand of her black hair behind her ear, trying not to think too deeply about how she'd cried like a baby as she watched Robb and Talissa kiss during their first dance. The betrayal of that moment still hurt. The betrayal of them dancing to that song. _Our song._ "A few years ago."

"How old were you?" he asked, eyes focused on her locket again. "In the picture."

"Seventeen," she said. 

"Which of these boys in the oldest?" he asked as he looked closely at the photo. 

"The black haired one," she said. "That's Jon. He's the oldest by a few months. He's the one getting married in three months. The lighter haired boy is Robb. They're both 24. Just a year older than me." She cleared a throat that didn't need clearing. "Robb's already married. He's about to have his second child with his wife. He's like the golden boy of the family. Amazing athlete, incredibly intelligent, very artistic. Devoted to his family, protective of those he loves. A woman's dream."

"So is Robb the one that spent the majority of his life in therapy?" Dr. Baelish asked, referencing something else she'd told him last week after their first session. She made a mental note of his good memory and knew she needed to watch what she said around him. He didn't miss a detail. 

"Robb's a hot head, but Jon is the nut case," she said, making an attempt at levity that failed. She decided to fill in dead air and blanks in the story. "He's actually my half brother. Long story short. My dad met my mom in the Riverlands. It was love at first sight, according to them. But my dad traveled a lot for work, and spent months at a time in the North, or Essos, and the long distance thing scared my mom, so they remained...friendly, but not exclusive, at least until he could be closer to her." Sansa looked closely at Dr. Baelish, to make sure he was following everything, and that she wasn't boring him with too many extraneous details.

She decided to make a very long story even shorter.

"My dad hooked up with a stripper at a crazy bachelor party for one of his colleagues. From the stories I've heard from various sources, his friends got him drunk, basically paid the girl for the service of giving the serious Eddard Stark an extra good time, and he fell into bed with her despite some resistance and reluctance. We could argue over the consent of that but I don't really want to. I'd like to think Jon was conceived in passion, at the very least."

She looked at the wall clock above Dr. Baelish's head to check the time, since they had an agreement to keep her phone off for the duration of their session.  "I guess my dad felt bad about it because the woman was pretty young. 18. Big natural tits and a woman's body, but an innocent girls face. She even had braces." She remembered that detail vividly. She'd seen photos of the woman, Wylla, the day she gave birth to Jon. The braces made her seem even younger than her age indicated. Too young to have the screaming pink baby that she held in her hands in the photos.

"My dad took her out to dinner after their one night stand, I guess wanting to know more about the young stripper he gave his seed to in a moment of weakness...or drunkenness.  Her name was Wylla. She didn't finish high school. She started stripping to save some money. She lived with her boyfriend. A boyfriend she gave all of her money to. A boyfriend that beat her if she didn't have enough at the end of the night. And my dad, being 'the man of honor'  he was, decided to play hero and give her an envelop of money and told her to get away from her abusive man. I guess he thought she would use the money to go back to school, or something? Pretty naive, to think he was saving her from being a whore for wealthy executives. She ran right to her boyfriend and gave him money. That was an extremely expensive one night stand. But people do stupid things to get over their guilt."

"Naive, perhaps," Dr. Baelish said. "But your father sounds like a decent man for trying to help her out. Many men wouldn't have bothered to learn her name, let alone her circumstances."

"I guess." Sansa shrugged. She wasn't really there to talk about her dad. But it mattered, if only because Jon's entire existence was forever shaped by this exchange of wealth and sex, and the guilt that came with it. "After that whole experience, and I guess after feeling guilty about it, my dad decided he didn't want to live the bachelors life or fuck strippers barely out of high school. He wanted to settle down with a woman he loved and have a nice home with lots of babies. So that's what he did. Quit his high paying position, started his own company, proposed to my mom. They got married and popped out five kids in eight years."

"Completely unaware about the other woman," Dr. Baelish said.

Sansa nodded. "We moved to King's Landing when I was like four. My dads company was doing really well and he thought being in the big city would be best for growing the company. For better or worse, that was how Wylla got back in contact with him. She literally went to his office with a kid and claimed that my dad was the father of the seven-year-old boy. But dad could have denied it, given her the run around. But good ol, honorable Ned Stark. He believed her."

"I imagine that was a shocking development for your family." 

"I was still a kid when it happened so I didn't really understand what was going on. Just out of nowhere, I learned I had another brother. My mom hated it, I know that. Thought the woman was a gold digger. But the paternity test confirmed that Jon was her husbands first child, so what else could my mom do but accept it? I don't think she's ever truly accepted it. In fact I know she hasn't. She feels like the only reason her husband married her was to get over the guilt he felt for fucking some young and possibly sex trafficked whore while out on the road."

Dr. Baelish nodded at the words. "I guess I can see why poor Jon would need to have therapy," he said, clearly deciding to focus on how this impacted Jon. "That's a tough predicament for a child."

"You don't know the half. Jon came to officially live with us when he was 8. He was one fucked up kid. Actually he's still pretty fucked up." She let that confession sit in the air for a moment, twirling her black hair with a finger, waiting for Dr. Baelish to comment, but he simply stared at her. She felt judged. "I know what you're thinking. What does that say about me if he's so fucked up and I'm in love with him? I must be equally, if not more fucked up, huh?"

He shifted in his seat. "Why do you feel the need to read into what I'm thinking?"

She shifted in her seat. "Why do you feel the need to obfuscate what you're thinking?"

"Tell me about Jon," he said, sidestepping her question. 

"What do you want to know?" she asked, deliberately being difficult, refusing to make this tangled web of story easy to parse. It was a maze of emotions. It couldn't be navigated in a straightforward manner. 

"I want to know why you are in love with him," he eyed her before adding, "Your fucked up, half-brother."

She hated the pain that she felt in her chest almost as much as the empty feeling in her gut. "I don't even want to talk about it right now. Fuck him. I wish he never came to live with us. Then I wouldn't feel like this. I wouldn't be here. I wouldn't have this fucking hole in my heart. I wouldn't care about his stupid wedding. And I would be free to love and fuck whoever I wanted. Fucking asshole. He ruined me."

She thought her outburst might rattle him -  it rattled her -  but he remained cool, measured, unfazed. "And what about your other brother, Robb?"

"What about him?" she sighed. Talking about her feelings was unexpectedly exhausting. 

"Did he ruin you?"

"I ruined him. We were the normal, healthy sibling relationship. And I took that from us.  I'm the reason he isn't perfect. And I know he hates me for it.  And I hate myself for what I did to him, what I did to us."

This was the first time she noticed Dr. Baelish seemed at a loss for words. She could tell the puzzle pieces weren't fitting correctly in his mind. "I think we really should start from the beginning."

She knew he was right.

*****

"This is your big brother," her father told them all, as they stared at the black-haired kid with band aids on his arm and knee. He was shorter than Robb, though he was supposed to be older. 

Robb was 7, Sansa was 6, Arya was 4, Bran was 3, and Rickon was a baby. 

Sansa didn't really understand where this new, strange kid fit in. How could she have a new brother? He was a stranger. 

Her father had brought them to the park to meet their new brother. But Sansa was equally, if not more interested in the woman named Wylla, who stood off in the distance. Sansa was aware that this kid might even come live with them. That part was still unclear. In fact, everything was unclear. Did she have to love this boy like she loved Robb, and Arya, and Bran, and baby Rickon? Why should she? He looked mean. 

"Hi big brother," Arya said. 

Robb and Sansa looked at each other, and then at the kid that was now supposed to be their big brother. 

"Everybody, say hi to Jon," her father encouraged. 

"Hi Jon," everyone but Rickon said. He was too busy blowing snot bubbles. 

Jon just looked at the ground.

*****

Sansa was six when she was scared awake by the sound of her parents yelling at each other. She rolled out of bed wearing her pink pajamas and shook her sisters arms. "Arya, wake up."

Her four-year-old sister looked up from her sleep. "What?"

"Did you hear that?"

"Hear what?" Arya asked, annoyed. 

"Mommy and daddy. They screamed at each other."

Arya listened for a few moments, one of her eyes closed. "I don't hear nuffin."

"They were screaming, I swear."

"Well not now," her sister said, closing her eye and turning away from her. 

"Lets go downstairs."

Arya responded by wrapping herself tighter in the covers. 

"Come on, Arya."

"Leave me alone, Sansa."

"Fine, stupid. I'm not letting you play with my dollhouse anymore."

Sansa slipped on her slippers, eased her bedroom door open and tip toed down the stairs. It was scary down there with all of the lights off. She usually slept with a night light. But she wanted to know what was going on, so she followed the voices of her parents. She found her mother and father in the den. She hid behind the wall and listened. Her mother was weeping. Her father was trying to comfort her. 

"No, Ned. No. I refuse," she heard her mother say. "He cannot come here."

"Cat, please. He's my son."

"He needs to be in therapy, in some kind of institution for troubled children. You can pay to put him in one. A good one with the best physicians. Just don't bring him here. Don't endanger our home."

"Are you mad? I won't abandon him to some nut house. Jon has problems but the biggest problem is the lack of home stability. His mother is going to rehab. That...man is in jail. And I'm going to make sure he stays there for a long time. But Jon has no other family, no structure. I can provide that for him. We can provide that for him. A real home. With two loving parents, and loving siblings.":

"He tried to drown a little girl in a bathtub, Ned," she snapped. "He abused his own dog. How in the hell can you let him come around our girls? Our dogs? Ned, the boy is damaged. He has the pathology of a psychopath."

"He's my son!" he said so loud that Sansa accidentally recoiled and knocked over the lamp.

Her parents rushed to see what had crashed on the floor.

"Sansa," her father said, his eyes wide.

"Are you okay honey?" her mother asked. 

She looked at them for a moment, but when she tried to speak, her eyes blurred and her voice cracked. When her father hugged her, she dissolved into tears. 

*****

"Are you a psychopath?" Sansa asked Jon, seven months after that day in the park, when he officially moved to King's Landing to live with his biological father. 

She was supposed to be making him feel at home, showing him around, letting him play with her toys. But she didn't want to play with the strange smelly boy.

"I said, are you a psychopath?" she asked him again. 

"No."

Sansa bit her lip. "My mom says you're a psycho."

"I'm not."

"So why does my mom say you are?"

"I don't know," he said defensively

"I heard you hurt your dog."

He looked away from her, seemingly ashamed. So it was true, then. She wrapped her arms around her puppy. 

"If you hurt my dog, I will hurt you," she barked at him.

"I'm not going to hurt your dog, okay?" 

She didn't know what answer she wanted out of him. But the one he gave her wasn't quite satisfying. It made her curious.

"Did you like your dog?" she asked. 

He continued to look at the floor. "Yes. I loved my dog." 

"So was he a bad dog?" 

He sighed. "No. He was good."

"So why did you hurt him?"

He just stood there looking at the ground, and that frustrated her. Her other siblings were full of life. This boy was so quiet. It was like pulling teeth to get him to speak a full sentence. 

"Is it because you're bad?" she asked him.

He shrugged. She lost her patience. "Well to live here you have to be good. Okay? No more being a psycho."

He left her room without saying anything. 

*****

Sansa figured out that the best way to get answers was to eavesdrop on her parents. They were forever talking about Jon in hushed voices late at night when they thought everyone was sleeping. She found out that Jon had some kind of anti-social disorder and had to take medicine for it. He also got to see a therapist three times a week. 

One night, she overheard her father explaining to her mother what the therapist had learned. "The man used to lock Jon in a room for days, sometimes weeks at a time. With nothing but a book or two to read over and over again."

"That's awful," she heard her mother say in exasperation.

Another night, she snuck out of bed and heard her father say something about "waterboarding." She didn't know what that meant, but it was what Jon's stepfather used on him as punishment. "This is what Jon did to that little girl in the bathroom. He was reenacting his own abuse, thinking it was 'playing.' He did the same thing to their dog. Dr. Luwin says this is common behavior from children of abuse - acting out their abuse on small animals or other children."

"That doesn't make it normal - that doesn't make it right," her mother said.

"I'm not saying it's normal or right. I'm saying the pattern of behavior is recognizable, so there are proven methods to treat him."

"What if he acts his abuse out on one of the pets? Or one of the children, Ned?"

"We talked about this. We decided together that you would give Jon a chance. You promised me you would-"

"I'm afraid of him. Every time he goes to that therapist and we learn something more about his pathology, I get scared for our children. Our children."

"He is one of  _our children_ now. The courts decided Wylla was unfit. So he's ours, Cat. We need to shower him with love and let him know he is part of our family. That is how we beat his pathology, with love. We just have to keep a close eye on him, alright?"

"I'm going to trust you," she said. "But if he hurts any of our children, I swear..."

"Don't you dare speak that thought," her father warned with a fire Sansa rarely heard from him.

*****

They threw a surprise birthday party for Jon when he turned 9. He didn't really deserve it. His teachers all said he needed to improve in every subject. And he always kept Sansa's parents up late at night talking about what they were going to do with him. Sansa could sense the stress weighing on her parents after Jon came to live with them, and she resented him for it. They were always tired and sad. She missed when they were happy and fun. 

Jon did NOT deserve such a big celebration for his birthday. With cake, and ice cream, presents, and clowns, and a bounce house. All she knew was Robb's birthday was a few months away, and if Jon got all of this for being bad, Robb deserved a party ten times better for getting good marks in school, and not getting in any trouble. 

What irked Sansa the most was that Jon didn't even seem grateful for the party. He wasn't laughing at the clown, or playing with the water balloons, or jumping in the bounce house, or anything fun. He even took off his birthday hat and gave it to Arya, so now she was running around with it on as if it was her birthday. 

And to top it off, after he blew out his nine candles, he didn't even want to eat any of his birthday cake or the lemon cupcakes that she helped mom make. 

"Why isn't he eating any cake?" Robb asked her, as all of the other kids started devouring their slices. 

"He's weird," Sansa answered. 

"If you don't want your cake, can I have your piece?" Arya asked him.

"Go ahead," he said while handing it over. 

Sansa cornered Jon later that night while he was sitting outside by himself, eating a peach. 

"Gosh, why are you so weird?" she asked before sitting down next to him.

"What did I do now?"

"Why didn't you want any of your birthday cake? Or at least the lemon cupcakes. I stayed up all night making that for you."

"I'm sorry. But I just didn't want any."

"But you want a peach?" she hissed. "You're so weird."

"Yeah, a weird psycho," he said before taking another bite. 

"Well at least you admit you're a psycho now."

"If I'm a psycho aren't you supposed to be afraid of me or something? Don't you think I might hurt you?"

For some reason, she had never really saw Jon hurting her, even though she knew it was one of her mothers fears. He didn't seem like he wanted to hurt anyone. But he did have to see a therapist and take medicine. Was that all that was stopping him from hurting her like he did that girl in the bathtub? 

"You're my big brother. You're not going to hurt me," she ended up saying. 

He looked at her closely before tossing the unfinished peach on the grass.

"Litterer," she spat at him.

"Whatever."

"Pick it up."

"Why? It'll make a peach tree."

"No it won't. You have to plant and water it. You can't just throw it on the ground. I plated trees with my class for assignment and we fought global warming. I know how it works."

"Wow, really? Good for you."

She didn't like him not taking her seriously. 

"Pick it up, Jon. We don't litter here."

"Then you pick it up. It's your house."

"It's yours, too."

"For now," he said before pushing himself up and leaving her alone in the backyard.

She picked up the peach and placed it in the trash.

*****

"Daddy, make Jon eat some of his cake. I spent all night making him the cupcakes and he won't even taste it. That's rude."

Ned regarded his oldest daughter before instructing her to sit on his lap. "Listen. I know you and your mother spent a lot of time in that kitchen and made the best lemon cupcakes ever. But Jon just didn't want any. And that's okay. I talked with him about it. I understand."

"Understand why he doesn't want cake?" she asked. "Who doesn't like cake?"

He took a deep breath. "Can you keep a secret, sweety?"

She nodded yes. 

"I'm serious. I don't want you going around talking about this to anyone."

"I won't. I swear."

"Pinky swear?" he said before tickling her belly. 

"Yes, yes, I pinky swear," she laughed. 

They swore to keep this between themselves with the sacred pinky swear before her fathers face grew serious again. "A while ago, right before Jon's 6th birthday, Jon snuck into the refrigerator to eat a piece of his birthday cake that his mother brought home after..work. His stepfather was so angry about that, he cancelled Jon's birthday party and decided that he would lock Jon in a room for three days. He wouldn't let your brother out, not even to use the bathroom. And the only thing he allowed Jon to eat was his birthday cake. For three days, that's all your brother ate. Cake and frosting. You would hate cake too if that ever happened to you."

She tried to imagine eating lemoncakes for three days straight and it didn't sound that bad. But she realized it wasn't really fair to compare her imagination to what Jon had actually experienced. "Why did he do that?"

"Because he was a bad man. Evil. He really hurt Jon, Sansa. That's why he lives with us now. And we need to support him, be understanding if he seems a little weird or doesn't like some of the things we like. If you ask him, he probably has a good reason for why he doesn't like it. I need you and Robb to really try to help Jon feel comfortable and loved by this family. He's not used to this environment. So don't give him a hard time as he tries to adjust, alright? Can you do that for me? Be his sister? Be his friend?"

"Yes, daddy. I can do that."

"That's my sweet girl," he said with a kiss to her auburn hair.

*****

"Yeah?" Jon answered the knock on his door.

"It's Sansa. Can I come in?"

After a few moments of silence he said, "I don't care."

She opened the door and peaked inside. He was laying on his bed, reading something. His Transformers comforter was crooked. He needed to learn how to make his bed better. And there were books on the floor and pencils and playing cards just sprawled randomly on his desk. He needed to learn how to clean up his mess.

"What you reading?" she asked as she stepped inside his junky bedroom, which used to be her fathers home office. It was one of the biggest rooms in the entire house. 

He put the book to his side and sat up halfway. "What do you want?"

She thought about what her father said and decided not to react at his rudeness. _Maybe he doesn't have any manners_ , she thought before she cleared her throat. "I...I'm sorry for calling you a psycho."

"What?"

"I said...I'm sorry. For being mean."

He studied her, his little sister that he barely knew. "Now you're being the weirdo."

She huffed and turned around to storm out.

"Wait," he called out for her. "I don't mean that. I'm sorry."

She held herself in place, hoping he meant it. She didn't want to get made fun of for trying to be nice to him. When she turned around, she saw him sitting completely upright with his feet to the floor. He didn't look like he wanted to make fun of her. 

"Do you ever read horror?" he asked in a way that suggested he was attempting to make real conversation. It was perhaps the first time he had ever taken a single step towards trying to get to know her.

"Like Goosebumps?" she asked before taking a step towards getting to know him. 

"Sort of," he said before picking up his book and scooting, indicating he wanted her to join him on the bed. She accepted the invitation and walked to his bed. He had to move some socks out of the way before she was able to sit down. She picked up his book after she was comfortable. "The Graveyard Book. What's this about?"

"This kid that was raised by ghosts in a graveyard," he said matter of factly. "He can't leave or he'll be killed by the man that murdered his family. It's really cool. You can borrow it if you want. I've read it six times. "

"Oh okay," she said as she stared at the cover. Maybe she shouldn't have apologized for calling him a psycho. She flipped through the pages absentmindedly. "I like the Harry Potter books."

"Yeah, they are pretty good too," he said.

There was an awkward silence before she cleared her throat, still pretending her skimming of the pages was more than a show. "Did you read a lot when you lived with your mom?"

He answered by shrugging. "I guess so, why?"

"Just asking," she said timidly. More silence followed, more awkwardness. Finally, she couldn't take it anymore. She wanted to know more about what he seemed reluctant to talk about. "Why was your other dad so mean to you?"

She felt the change in his body language, and even in his voice. "Why are you asking me this?"

"I'm just asking," she said as her eyes raised to meet his. But she quickly looked away.

"Did your dad tell you? About the cake? Is that why you're in here?"

"No."

"Yes he did," he threw at her.

"No he didn't."

"You're lying," he barked. "I can't trust anybody around here. I only told your dad so he wouldn't keep bothering me about eating that stupid cake."

For some reason, this made her feel very defensive. "He's your dad, too."

"Whatever. He's a liar."

"He's not. I swear by the gods he never told me anything about anything."

"So how do you know my dad... my other dad was mean to me?"

"Because I heard my mommy and daddy talking about you. Almost every night all they do is talk about you. So I sneak out sometimes to listen."

"Gosh you're nosey," he snapped. "You need to mind your own business."

"Well you're my brother so you are my own business," she snapped right back.

"Robb is your brother. Bran and Rickon - they're your brothers. I'm just here until your parents get tired of me."

"That's not true. My mommy and daddy aren't like that." She could see she was irritating him, but on the whole, she could also see that she was breaking him down, so she kept pushing. "Look Jon, we just want you to talk to us. Or if you don't wanna talk to anybody else, you can at least talk to me. I pinky swear I won't tell anybody anything if you don't want me to."

He looked at her for a long time before sighing long and hard. "Fine. What do you wanna know?"

"Why don't you like cake?" she asked.

He told her the story. The same story her father told to her, except he included how he puked after the second day of eating handfuls of mushy, warm cake. She felt bad for thinking that she might have liked being forced to eat nothing but lemon cakes three days in a row.

"Why didn't you tell my dad that you don't like cake? He would have got you something else for dessert."

"I didn't remember until they brought the big cake home. I forget a lot of things. I don't remember until my therapist asks me about it. "

"Why was your other dad so mean to you?" she continued down her list of questions. She had about a thousand of them. 

"I don't know why." He paused, looking at her before turning away, as if to search inside himself for an answer. "I think he hated me because he knew deep down I wasn't his real kid. He hated my mom for being with your dad, and hated me for being born I guess, and it felt good to hurt us."

"Are you happy he's in jail now?" she asked.

"No - not really." This surprised her. And made her mad. 

"But he hurt you," she reminded him. "He liked hurting you and your mommy."

"Yeah and I hurt my doggy. I hurt the girl from down the street. It felt good hurting them."

She chewed on that horrifying confession, trying to make sense of it. Trying to find the distinction. "But that's different."

"Doesn't feel any different," he said with a long sigh. "Look, I don't wanna talk about this with you anymore." He snatched the book from her hands and she took that as her cue to leave.

*****

"I have an idea," Sansa told Jon three days after his birthday party. "If you like to hurt people, then you can hurt me. I won't mind."

"What?" he hissed at her.

"So you don't hurt our dogs. I'll let you hurt me."

"What are you talking about? I don't want to hurt your dog. I don't want to hurt anybody."

"You said it felt good. The other day, you said it. I remember." It was all she could think about.

"Leave me alone, Sansa."

"Really. If you want to hurt me, I'll let you. I won't cry or nothin. I won't tell anybody. It can be our secret."

"Go away!" he yelled before pushing her out of his room and slamming his door in her face.

*****

Sansa threw grapes and strawberries in the shopping cart, and plenty of lemons. 

"Oh make sure to get some peaches," her mother said. "Good ones."

"Why?" Sansa asked.

"I'm making a peach cobbler. Jon really likes peaches," she said. "There was a peach tree down the street from his old house, that he and his mother used to get peaches from. It's a good memory he has. It's good for him to be reminded of good memories."

"Oh," Sansa nodded.

She spent several minutes searching for the best peaches the market had to offer. 

*****

The Starks desperately tried to get Jon some hobbies. Physical activity and organized sports were good for the mind, body, and soul, so said their father the day he asked Jon which activity he wanted to try out that summer.

Sansa was one of the better young golfers in the Crownlands. She placed 11th out of 55 in the last tournament for girls ages 9-11. 

Bran didn't let his physical handicap hinder him in any way. He liked horseback riding and basketball, and although it wasn't a sport, he was a regular at talent shows, performing magic tricks that made the audience gasp and laugh and applaud.

Robb was captain of the best hockey team in Crownlands. He also wrestled for the school.

Even little Rickon was a pretty good tee-ball player.

Arya was the busiest of them all. She was a year into her journey to become a red belt in Judo, and when she wasn't fighting, she was dancing and acting with the theater kids. She also played soccer in the fall, lacrosse in the spring, and practiced archery and fencing year round. 

But the siblings weren't just athletes, they were artistic too. They all could play the piano, having started piano lessons at age 4, but Sansa and Arya also played the violin, Robb played guitar, Bran played the saxophone, and Rickon was getting into drums.

It was a lot to live up to. The Stark kids were always busy with activities, so it was expected that Jon would join them.

Their father tried to teach him to swim but he didn't take to the water at all. Next they tried games with balls - soccer, football, basketball -  but he wasn't very coordinated, or interested in learning how to better anticipate how to kick, or catch, or shoot.

They even tried to put him into an art class, since he liked to doodle in his diary, but his teacher didn't think Jon was engaged with art.

It was as if the kid didn't like anything. He seemed to get along most with Arya, and they could be seen playing together in the backyard several times a week, but that wasn't good enough. Their father didn't think a 9-year-old boy should spend so much of his free time playing with a 6-year-old girl, so he put Jon in boyscouts along with Robb.  The hope was that he would learn to appreciate the outdoors and bond with his brother. But when they came back from an outing with the scouts, Robb would tell Sansa how weird and distant Jon was.

"He ate a worm," he told her after returning from a hike. "Freaked everyone out on purpose."

Sansa got to see it for herself for Jon's 10th birthday party, when all of the boyscots were invited over, yet they spent most of the time gathered around Robb, laughing and enjoying the party while the birthday boy read a book on his phone.

At least they didn't serve cake this time.

*****

Sansa heard Cersei's voice, but as the two girls rode in the backseat of the car, her words were just white noise. Only when her friend said "Sansa, did you hear me?" did she look up from her phone.

"Huh?" 

"Were you listening to anything I said?" 

"Yeah, you were talking about Jeyne's sweater."

She huffed. "I haven't talked about that ugly sweater for like, five minutes. What are you so busy reading that you're ignoring me." She snatched away Sansa's phone. 

"Stop," Sansa said, reaching for it, but Cersei was already scrolling through the virtual pages.

"The Graveyard Book?" Cersei asked, her voice dipped with disdain. 

Sansa threw her arms as far as they would go, but the seat belt prevented her from reaching far enough. "Give it back."

Cersei read a passage from the chapter Sansa was so absorbed in, mockery in her voice, laughing at the sentence when she was done. "What the heck is this crap?"

The two girls fought over the phone until the authoritative baritone voice of Cersei's father Tywin filled the car. "Cut it out, both of you." They both stopped moving as commanded, as Sansa looked up and saw the golden haired business man looking at her from the rear view mirror, his green eyes narrowed. "Cersei, hand Sansa back her phone."

Cersei huffed and tossed the phone back at her friend, before sitting back in her seat and crossing her arms. 

Her pouting only seemed to annoy him further. "What are you, five? I said _hand_ Sansa the phone."

Cersei took the phone back from Sansa's lap, then made a show of handing the phone over to Sansa, like her father had told her to do the first time. 

Her father shook his head, taking his eyes off the mirror and focusing them back on the road. "What's the Graveyard Book about, Sansa?"

"A..a boy that was raised by ghosts," she answered. "In a graveyard."

"Sounds fascinating," he said, seemingly impressed. "Tyrion reads. But I wish my other children were apt to read a book here and there."

"Who wants to read that stupid book," she heard Cersei whisper ever so slightly under her breath.

"No, stupid is spending all of your free time gossiping about the nonsense you find so important to bore everyone around you with. Stupid is spending thousands of dollars on tutoring for you and your brother, and watching the two of you score in the bottom third of your class. Stupid is that look on your face whenever you realize you're not the center of attention.  Stupid is the lengths you go to make people like you, throwing expensive parties, while someone like Sansa befriends people effortlessly. Stupid is how I feel giving you all of the world, and watching you constantly embarrass yourself, and the Lannister name. Sansa is a smart, beautiful, talented girl. You'd be wise to take lessons from her, instead of wallowing in your stupidity."

Sansa felt conflicted, when she peaked over and saw tears filling Cersei's eyes. On one hand, it served her right, being put in her place. On the other hand, Cersei was 11. And Tywin was her father. Did any daughter deserve to hear her father say such words?

Sansa hadn't seen her cry since Jaime was sent away. But Cersei wiped away her tears before they found her cheek. She refused to let her friend see her wounded. 

The car ride was awkwardly silent, until her father cut on the radio to classical music. Sansa tried to go back to reading her book, but she was too distracted. She decided to message Cersei.

"I'm sorry," she text her. Although she wasn't even sure what she was apologizing for. She just wanted Cersei to know how sorry she felt. 

Cersei lifted her phone and read the message, but set the phone down and returned her gaze to the window, refusing to respond. 

About five minutes later, they pulled up to Sansa's house. 

"Tell your mother and father I send my regards," Tywin said.

"Okay, I will," she said as she gathered her things and stepped out of the crimson Porsche. "Thanks again Mr. Lannister for the ride home." She looked at her friend. "See you later Cersei."

Cersei held up her hand in a half hearted wave, without turning to look her way.

"Stop acting like a child and speak with your mouth," her father demanded. 

Cersei looked at her father, then turned to Sansa. She could feel the embarrassment and contempt sizzling from her beaten red face. "Bye, Sansa."

She closed the door and watched the car pull off. 

*****

"How do you think this smells?" Sansa asked Margaery, after spraying some of the orange colored mist around. Margaery inhaled the scent slowly. Sansa decided to add "it has a hint of peach."

"Yeah I smell it," Margaery nodded. "Smells good."

"Yeah, I think so," Sansa said.

"You really like peach scented stuff," Margaery noted with a laugh. "You have peach hand lotion, perfume, now body spray."

"I love peaches," she said.

"I thought you loved lemons."

"I do, but I love peaches too."

Margaery shrugged her bare shoulders before the two friends made their way to the girls clothing section of the store. They picked through cute outfits before Margaery plucked a pair of blue and white striped denim shorts. "These would look so cute on you."

"They would look even better on you," Sansa smirked.

"No, you have the legs to show off. Plus you have some blue sneakers that would just go perfect with them."

"They are so short," Sansa remarked, looking at the light garment and trying to picture them on her body. She handed the shorts back to her. "Do they have a pants version?"

"Why are you so obsessed with pants," Margaery asked. "It's about to be summer. When you go on your spring vacation with your family, don't you want to show off those gorgeous legs? At least try them on. For me."

"I gotta pee," Sansa said abruptly.  "Maybe I'll try them on afterwards."

Sansa quickly moved to the ladies restroom without waiting for a response. When her jeans were to her ankles, and she was sitting the toilet, she touched between her thighs, slowly, carefully, before reaching for the makeup mirror in her purse. She needed to see how bad it looked down there. 

 

*****

Sansa was well traveled for someone her age. By age eight, she'd already sailed underneath the Titan of Braavos, toured The Great Pyramid of Ghis, listened to the Three Bells of Norvos, ate oysters, clams, and cockles on the Long Bridge of Volantis, and looked down from the top of Three Walls of Quarth.

By the time she was in middle school, she could say she'd stepped foot on every continent on Planetos. Her parents took the kids on one to two long vacations twice a year, both as a chance to get away and to ensure that the Stark children were cultured and worldly. So Sansa had a strong frame of reference whenever she said her favorite place in the world to visit was Lys. 

She loved everything about the city state - the sandy beaches and cool blue waters, the old Valyrian architecture and beautiful ancient temples, the seafood cuisine, the museums, and shows; even the very language the people spoke. She loved it there so much that when she was nine she begged her mother to enroll her in a course to learn the Lysense dialect of High Valyrian, just so she could watch and understand the movies made from there. 

So when her father announced that they would be taking a trip to Lys again for their next vacation, she jumped in his arms and kissed him. 

"You aren't tired of going there yet? We've been there like three times," Arya said. 

"Four," Sansa corrected.

"That's even worse," Arya complained. "I wanna go back to Sothoros and see more of the jungle and wild animals."

"What's so good about Lys?" Jon asked as he listened in on the conversation. 

It was the city of love and passion and beauty, she told him. The food was delicious and there was just an endless amount of things to see and do. 

"I can't get enough," she said. "When I get old enough, I'm going to live there. Just wait until you get there, it's going to be so awesome."

"It's a pretty beautiful and fun place," Robb commented, agreeing with the older of his two sisters. "The food is to die for."

When the family made their way to the island, they went scuba diving, and visited the world famous museums, and spent a day at Disneyland Lys.

But while Sansa would only half remember most of the things they did during their 10-day stay in paradise, there were two nights in the villa that she would always remember. 

The first occurred on their fourth night. 

It was late at night, and everyone was sleeping except for her, Jon and Robb. They were eating Oreos while flipping through the channels, trying to find something entertaining to watch. 

Robb had the remote, and he turned to one of the premium movie channels, where a movie called 'Cruel Intentions' was on. The male lead character was in the middle of a session with his therapist. 

When the teenager complained about finding it hard to feel sorry for himself because he was a 'poor little rich boy', Robb laughed. "Is that what you say to your therapist?" he asked Jon. 

Jon flipped his brother the bird and continued licking the icing off the cookie. 

Sansa was fascinated by therapy. She thought it was so interesting that there existed an entire profession where someone was paid to listen to another person talk about their feelings. She wished she could see what it was like, to have someone listen to and sympathize with all of her crazy thoughts and emotions. She thought Jon was lucky because he got to do just that. 

Robb turned the channel after the therapist tried to give her client a book she'd apparently written, but Sansa barked at her brother. "Change it back, Robb. I want to see what happens."

"It looks stupid and boring."

"You've complained about everything being stupid and boring," she said. "Turn it back."

"Or what?" he said, quieter than he would in the daytime. 

"Or I'll get loud and mom and dad will send us to bed," she said.

He didn't like it. But he turned back to the movie, and Sansa got to see what happened next; some kind of strange twist where the boy in therapy turned out to be some manipulative playboy that fucked the therapists daughter and posted her naked pictures all over the internet. The webpage with the daughters naked photo was captioned: "Great Parenting?? How to Raise the Perfect Slut. For more pictures and great parenting, click here."

And for the next two hours, the three wide awake siblings didn't have to argue over what to watch. They watched a twisted tale of sex and treachery, filled with themes and images their parents never would have let them watch at that age. It was the pseudo incest that stuck with her the most. 

Two nights later, the three of them were up late again, flipping through channels, trying to find something to ensnare them the same way Cruel Intentions had. They landed on a movie called 'The Blue Lagoon'. They'd missed the first half hour or so, but it appeared to be about a brother and sister stranded on an island. She wouldn't learn until much later that they weren't brother and sister, but cousins. 

But that fact didn't exist in her head while she watched the boy and girl frolic with each other in the nude, go through puberty,  discover their undeniable attraction towards each other, then fall in love and have a baby. It was truly shocking and in some ways world changing to the way she thought. Incest was bad. Really bad. Bad enough to keep twin siblings apart from each other if they got too close. 

So why did their relationship seem so beautiful? Why did their love make her feel warm and heavy? Why did the movie make her cry for them?

Sansa had a dream that night. A strange dream that didn't really make any sense.

First off, she was naked, sitting in a therapists office, telling him about her feelings. She didn't seem to know she was naked until the doctor told her the session was over and that he would see her next week.

He pushed her out of the office, and it was only then that she realized she didn't have any clothes on. But by then, there were hundreds of people staring at her, pointing at her, laughing at her, seeing every inch of her naked skin.

She ran away, past the first wave of crowd, then the next wave, moving as fast as her bare feet could take her until she ran into Jon. He threw a blanket over her body as she fell into the comfort and safety of his awaiting arms. 

They stood in the middle of a sidewalk, in the middle of the day, hugging each other as Jon told her not to worry, that he was there now, and she didn't have to be ashamed. 

But the setting of the dream transitioned the way dreams transition, with little rhyme or reason, and she found herself on the beach of Lys, walking under the stars and moon, with Jon walking by her side.  They were holding hands, and she didn't feel ashamed anymore, so she shrugged the blanket off her shoulders so she could be naked again. 

For some reason, she wasn't embarrassed about her lack of clothing anymore. If anything, she felt excited, and really, really happy and free, as if this state was the most natural thing in the world. The waves of the beach crashed at their feet until Sansa decided she wanted to venture into the water. She ran into the waves, enjoying the cool water all over her body, and called for her brother to join her.

It took a little convincing but Sansa was able to get Jon to come into the water, even though she knew he couldn't swim. She was surprised, however, when he dropped his swimming trunks to join her in the nude, before he ran from the sandy beach to join her in the ocean. 

They swam together like mermaids, exploring the ocean floor without any need to return to the surface for a breath of air. When they did come to the surface, they looked and admired each others bodies. Moonlight reflected softly on his face. And Sansa was sure it was the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen. And then he kissed her. And then she kissed him. And then they kissed each other.

They made love on that beach, under the stars, near peaceful waves, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. She didn't really know how to make love, but she knew making love made babies. And she wanted to make a baby with him. 

And she woke up the next morning feeling tingly and confused. She felt relics of those emotions for the rest of the trip. 

She couldn't stop thinking about those movies, both containing elements of incest, and her weird dream, and the way the dream made her feel so strange.

When they were on the plane to head home, she scrolled through the vacation photos on her phone, of all of the places she'd taken selfies during her trip, trying to decide which ones she would post to her social media. She stopped when she landed on a photo of Jon and Robb, both of them shirtless, laying out on the beach with sunglasses on. 

She moved past that photo and found another one that she'd taken with them in front of the Castle at Disneyland. Robb was on her left, making a silly face as he made bunny ears on her head with his fingers, while Jon was squinting from the sun being in his eyes. 

She scrolled to the next one, which a much better picture of her with her older brothers. They each had a hand around her waist and weren't looking goofy this time. Her mother had smiled and said "aww, this is a nice picture of you and your big brothers."

And she was right. It was a nice picture. Her favorite picture out of hundreds that she'd taken while in Lys.

She looked at herself in the photo, squeezed between the boys, a genuine smile on her face. She peaked over at her brothers over in the next aisle of their first class flight. Jon was reclined back in his chair watching something on his tablet. Robb was nodding his head to music on his expensive headset. Robb saw her looking at him and pulled the headphones from his ears, asking "What? You want something?"

She shook her head in silence. Robb rolled his eyes and went back to his music. 

She went back to the photo. 

A few minutes later, she opened the private browser on her phone. And after making sure Arya's eyes were still closed as she sat next to her, she started typing in the search bar.

_"Why is incest wrong?"_

*****

"You barely even have boobs," Cersei Lannister said in frustration as she looked at the sheet of paper that brought her so much bitterness and despair. The paper read "hottest girls in 6th grade" and listed 35 individual names, ranked from 1st to 35th. Cersei Lannister showed up near the very top of the list, placing 2nd in votes from the class of 6th grade boys. But it was the very top of the list that made her jealous, as it read Sansa Stark. "Your little sister might even have bigger tits than you."

Margaery Tyrell laughed. She'd placed 4th on the list and found that to be flattering. She thought Cersei being upset about her placement was hilarious. "Be mad at the boys, Cersei. Not Sansa."

"I'm not mad, they're mad," Cersei said, so obviously mad that she wasn't considered the hottest girl in their class. "They have to be blind."

"I told you not to show her that list," Sansa rolled her eyes. Although she should have been pleased with being "the hottest." She didn't feel pleased. She wished she wouldn't have even seen the list. It made her feel paranoid.

Now she worried that everyone was watching everything she did, paying special attention to what she wore, what she said, how she laughed, how she ate her sandwiches at lunch and judging if it was hot or not. What would happen next time she tripped in the hallway or wore something with a stain or made an embarrassment out of herself?  What would happen when her boobs failed to get any bigger, while all of the other girls sprouted perky tits? How would she feel when the next list came out and the boys no longer saw her as hot?

"I'm sorry, I couldn't resist," Margaery said before throwing a look to Cersei. "I mean, just look at how salty she is."

"I"m not salty!" Cersei yelled before tearing the sheet of paper in half and tossing it in her face, before storming off towards their grammar and writing class.

"Oh she's so salty," Margaery grinned. "You're the hot girl and she can't take it."

Sansa sighed and closed her locker.

*****

"Come on guys, we should do it," Cersei pleaded with them as they sat around the pool in Sansa's backyard listening to the 'Get Turnt' playlist. She'd spend the past few days trying to convince them to perform a sexy choreographed dance right in the middle of the dance floor at final dance of the school year.

Margaery was too busy grooving to a 21 Savage song to pay too much attention to this latest Cersei cry for attention.

"We would look really stupid," Sansa said. "Who busts out a dance routine in the middle of a school dance?"

"It won't be stupid, it would be hot," Cersei said. "All the guys would be drooling over us."

"Eww, dogs drool," Jeyne said.

Sansa laughed hard.

"You guys are just saying that because you twerk like flat ass suburban white girls," Cersei rolled her eyes. "I'm a much better twerker and have a nicer ass. I was top 3 on the best ass list, in case you forgot. Sansa what were you? Like 22, 23? I forgot how exactly they rated your cakes."

"Can we not start this today?" Margaery said before reaching for a chocolate covered strawberry. "Yes Cersei, the boys like looking at your butt. Congratulations. But It's a beautiful day in King's Landing. Can we just enjoy it like the pretty suburban white girls we are? Cool? Thanks."

That shut Cersei up for a bit. But when Jeyne pointed at the window, bringing attention to Jon drinking milk from the carton, Cersei just had to start talking shit again. "Your half-brother is so weird."

"Don't talk about my brother, Cersei."

"He is though," she said. "I mean, he's cute too. But why does he have to be so...weird?"

"He _is_ cute," Jeyne smiled as she sucked chocolate from the strawberry.

"Not as hot as Robb, but definitely cute," Margaery agreed.

"Cuter than Jaime," Margaery smirked toward Cersei.

The girls, except Sansa, giggled as Cersei rolled her eyes. Then she got the bright idea. "Hey, we should perform our dance for him."

"Why?" Sansa asked.

"Because we need an audience," Cersei insisted.

"No, _you_ need an audience," Sansa said.

"Come on, why did we spent so much time getting the dance together if we weren't going to show anyone?"

"Because it was fun?" Margaery suggested. 

"No, learning it was work. Performing it is fun," she said before grabbing a chocolate covered strawberry and hopping out of her seat. "I'll be back."

The other girls watched through the window as Cersei approached Jon in the kitchen, sucking the chocolate off the strawberry in an obviously suggestive way.

"God I hate her sometimes," Sansa shook her head.

"Why do we hang out with her again?" Jeyne asked.

"Because she's the richest girl in school and throws the best parties," Margaery said. "Plus she'd spread rumors about us if we stopped being her friend."

"Those aren't good reasons," Sansa said as Cersei emerged from the kitchen, leading Jon by the hand.

"Eh I guess she can also be pretty entertaining, you have to admit," Margaery said. "I mean, look at her."

The girls looked as Cersei touched Jon's chest in a flirty way and strutted towards them like she was just the sexiest thing that existed. Sansa sighed, as Jon looked at them with an annoyed look on his face, a milk cartoon in his hand, and a big chocolate chip cookie in his mouth. He took a bite out of the cookie. "How long is this gonna take?" he asked, while chewing.

"Not long, take a seat," Cersei said with what she must have thought was a sexy grin, before she hurried over to the girls and pulled them off their feet.

Jon pulled a chair over to the grass to get a good view of the four girls as they gathered in the grass with their speakers and phones. He seemed more interested in his milk and cookie than what the huddled girls were doing.

"I don't think I should do this in front of my brother," Sansa said.

"Come on Sansa, it doesn't work with three people," Cersei said. "Look, I won't bitch the rest of the day or bring up any lists. I swear to the father."

"Oh we have to do this now," Margaery said.

"Not just today," Sansa eyed her. "I don't want to hear about these stupid lists anymore, period. And you stop talking about my body."

"Okay, okay damn. I won't talk about your box butt or mosquito bites anymore," she said. Sansa threw her a look that suggested she was one more mean comment away from being slapped. Cersei laughed and kissed her on the cheek. "Lighten up, I'm just kidding. You're the hot girl and you know it. Now lets practice our hotness for your weird but sorta hot brother."

Sansa wanted to be mad but Cersei managed to get the tiniest smirk out of her and that was all it took for Sansa to give in to peer pressure. 

They giggled and hurried to get into place before they lost their audience of one, who looked bored and ready to leave if they didn't hurry up. They lined up in a row, Jeyne got the song ready, Sansa saw Cersei tighten her shorts around her waist, giving her top 3 ass a wedgie. Not to be outdone, Sansa pulled her leggings tighter to accentuate her butt, which her peers had decided wasn't top 20. She felt self conscious, and more than a little embarrassed by her desire to look hot as she prepared to dance for Jon. 

And so it began. Four barefoot girls wearing t-shirts, shorts and leggings, dancing to Drake's "In My Feelings" while Jon ate milk and cookies and watched without a hint of amusement on his face. The steps themselves weren't especially sexy, but the girls each added their own flare to the moves, twirling their long hair, licking their lips, eying the older boy that they wanted to find this routine alluring, if not totally hot. They pointed at him when Drake sang "keke, do you love me?" and made the performance all about appealing to his gaze. 

When they got to the "bring that ass back" and "clap that ass" part, the girls really went to work, shaking their butts and rolling their hips as seductively to the hard hitting beat as they could muster. At one point, they even dropped down to the grass, bent forward with their asses on full display, so they could try to make their butts clap and jiggle like the girls they saw on the youtube videos.

Sansa let herself go in the dance, trying not to feel so self conscious about her dancing, about her body, about her brother seeing her like this. But when she turned around to find her brother and get his reaction to the raunchiest part of their dance, she was met far more embarrassment than she started with. 

"Where the fuck did he go?" Cersei asked, as the song continued to play to an empty chair.

*****

It was a week after the dance when Sansa told Jon "I wanna show you something."

He hadn't said much of anything to her since the debacle in the backyard. But that wasn't totally out of the ordinary. He barely talked to her anyway. So any distance or silence between them couldn't necessarily be attributed to her embarrassing misadventure in the backyard where she shook her butt for her brother. Distance and a lack of communication was their normal.  So when she told him that she wanted to show him something, the surprised look on his face was the expected one.

They did not have the kind of relationship, the trust nor the foundation that made secrets between them confidential, where she could just brazenly walk up and show him something personal like "look at this", without first establishing that she wanted to show him. And even with her wanting to show him established in that moment, a follow up line of "you can't tell anyone" needed to be said to cement what this moment signified.

This was a secret. A dark, twisted, world shattering secret. And she wanted to share her deepest secret with him.

Only him.

*****

"I used to feel jealous of you," Sansa said, as she sat with Jon in his room. "I know that's stupid, but it's true. I wished I could go to therapy."

Jon had been in therapy five years now. It used to be three days a week, but now it was just on Wednesday. He seemed to be doing better. He was still weird, but he wasn't violent. Well, she couldn't speak to his thoughts, but his actions weren't violent. And that meant he was better now than when he first came to them and confessed to her that it felt good to hurt that girl from down the street. 

"Why don't you just ask your parents to take you to see a therapist?" he asked, as he ran his fingers over the bubbled up scars in-between her legs. She shivered from the touch, but it wasn't pain that so left her shaken. "I'm sure they'll take you. They take me."

"It's not the same, " she said, feeling very vulnerable, but needing him to see her self-inflicted scars and hear her reasons for why they were there. "You have reasons to be in therapy. You were abused. Physically and emotionally. I've never been neglected, or molested, or abused in any way. Not once have my parents laid a finger on me. Not once have I went to bed hungry. I have no reason to be depressed. I have everything."

She listed off everything she had.

An allowance, a credit card, a new $2000 phone, and a closet full of stylish clothes that she had never even worn.

She had friends, popularity, a class of boys that thought she was the prettiest girl in their entire grade.

She was a straight A-student. She was a talented golf prodigy.

But beyond the superficial stuff, she had a loving home. An incredibly fun, open, loving home. Filled with younger siblings she could always play with, and protective older brothers she could count on.

She had smart, loyal, obedient dogs. And most of all, she had two parents that loved each other, which made this all possible.

She was learning two loving parents was increasingly rare in a home, even among her rich friends from school. Some of their parents were divorced, or separated, or on their way to divorce or separation. Margaery's and Cersei's mothers were both dead. Jeyne once told her she wished her parents loved each other the way Catelyn and Eddard Stark loved each other.

Sansa Stark had it all. So what room did she have to ever complain?

How could she tell anyone that sometimes -  despite a house filled with love and an iphone contacts list filled with friends - she felt lonely? How could she ever tell anyone that sometimes - despite endless sources of entertainment and amusement - she felt unhappy? How could she ever admit these incredibly selfish and offensive things out loud?

For no particular reason at all, she sometimes felt trapped in what it meant to be Sansa Stark, the popular and talented daughter of the wealthy and successful Stark family. A good student. A talented musician and athlete. A daughter that her parents were forever proud to show off to the other elites. 

She hated feeling like she wasn't as smart, or talented, or pretty, or valuable as everything about her life told her she was . She hated feeling like she was born into importance, without having earned any of it. And it made her feel like a fraud. And she felt like at any second, people were going to discover the real her, the insecure, dishonest, phony that was perceived to be as sweet as honey, but was rotten to her core. 

She remembered praying to the gods every night, the old and the new, asking for her 'bad' feelings to be taken away from her. But every day she woke up, still feeling bad, and was forced to put on a fake smile, and put herself together so that she looked like Sansa Stark, and sounded like Sansa Stark, and behaved like Sansa Stark, even though she felt like some other girl that didn't have a name and had never introduced herself to the world. 

Her feelings confused her and she had no vocabulary to articulate what she felt or why she felt it. 

And in those moments of confusion, she found that there was a way to distract herself from having to feel those things. All she had to do was hurt. And since she didn't want to hurt anyone else, that left herself as the only one she was capable of hurting. 

It started with matches, burning her fingers, burning her wrists, burning her thighs. It hurt like hell, and made her cry. But afterwards, when her tears were dried she felt better, relieved, soothed. But then she moved away from fire because fire left too many marks on her skin. Sharp objects were the next best thing. 

She discovered that she got an immense amount of pain and tingles from poking the nerve endings in her gums with toothpicks.  She got equal sensations from sticking her skin with sewing needles. But she found that her biggest rush came from cutting her skin with razors.

The mix of sharp pain and hot pleasure became attractive whenever she felt dead inside. Hurting herself made her feel alive. Like she was connecting to the true girl that lived inside of her. One that wasn't sweet, or innocent, or good. A girl that her parents wouldn't love or be proud to show off. A girl that wouldn't be very popular at school if she was allowed to attend. A girl Sansa could only keep alive with pain. 

At first, Sansa was careful enough to avoid leaving any permanent marks on her arms, but after one incident that drew blood and forced her to wear long sleeves every day for a month, she decided to focus her cuts to  hidden spots that rarely saw the light of day. The fleshy parts between her thighs, mostly. 

For all of her privilege and wealth (and not just monetary wealth), she felt like the desire to harm herself in this way was shameful, as embarrassing as anything she could think of. And despite efforts to be happy and healthy and not ungrateful for her life, she couldn't help but trade the pain of unhappiness for the pain of the cold razor breaking her skin open. It would satisfy her for a spell, but then she would feel guilty, then eventually angry, and then she would loop back to feeling unhappy again. It was a cycle she couldn't break by herself.

She knew she could talk to an adult about it. But she honestly never knew what she would say. Every time she tried to imagine a conversation, she saw it ending in disaster.

_I hate who I am sometimes._

_Why?_

_I don't know. I just want to be someone else. Someone realer than who I am._

_Why?_

_I don't know. And not knowing is so frustrating, so I cut. And then I feel better._

_But doesn't cutting hurt?_

_Yes. It hurts so much I cry._

_So how does it make you feel better?_

_I don't know. I prefer that pain to the other pain._

_Describe this "other pain."_

_I can't._

_So how do you know that it's real?_

_Because it hurts._

_Where does it hurt?_

_In my soul._

_And where is your soul?_

_I don't know._

_What do you know?_

_That sometimes I wish I was dead._

_That's worrying._

_I don't want to go away forever. I just wish the other girl hidden inside of me was allowed to live._

And before she could elaborate any further, she would be placed in a straitjacket and shipped off to an institution, where she'd be monitored day and night as a suicide risk. 

She couldn't tell any adult about these fragmented, confusing feelings.

So she told Jon, showed Jon, the broken boy from the broken home. He knew what it was like to suppress his inner darkness. He must have had some answers for her. 

"I remember when Ashara committed suicide last semester and they had grief counselors at school. I didn't even know her that well because she was two grades ahead of me, but I went to the grief counselor four times just because I wanted someone to talk to. But I never could quite tell her that I cut. I was afraid they would tell my mom or dad that I was suicidal or something."

"And what do you think their reaction would be?" he asked. "If they knew you cut."

"I don't know, that's why I'm afraid," she admitted. "I just feel so much pressure. Pressure to perform every day. And be who people want me to be."

Jon stopped touching her scars and looked into her eyes. "I mean, I don't know your parents as well as you do, but I'm positive they only want you to be who you are."

"Maybe. But I don't want my relationship with them to change." She sighed, before looking up at him. "I know this is going to sound stupid, but I don't want them to worry about me the way I hear them worry about you. I don't want them to think I'm broken.  I don't want them to think you caused me to be broken. I don't want them to think they did anything wrong with me, or that they did anything wrong by bringing you here."

He nodded his head slowly. "I can see why you would keep it from them, then."

"Can you promise not to hate me if I tell you something else?"

He nodded. 

"Sometimes I envy you. I feel like people don't expect so much from you. You don't have to sit at the popular table and like, be the popular person that everyone is always talking about. I know these sound like petty, spoiled girl problems. I'm sorry."

"No, I get it," he said. "Don't be sorry. If I've learned anything - you're allowed to feel how you feel. Feelings and thoughts aren't crimes."

"Yeah but I know you've been through so much more than me."

"It's not a competition," he said. "This isn't the whose-had-it-worse Olympics."

"If it was, you would win," she said, trying to cut a joke.

"Or lose, depending on how you look at it," he smiled. But as he reflected, his smile faded. "I understand that just because you have money, it doesn't make everything better. We didn't have a lot of money when I was younger. That changed when my mom came to your dad for back child support. It was like everything changed. New apartment, new car, new clothes. But it didn't make anyone happier, it didn't make life any better. Made a lot of things worse, actually."

"How?" Sansa asked, leaning in, wanting to know more about her brother. This was as much as they had ever talked to each other.

"Well, having money now meant I didn't have an excuse to ever be unhappy about anything. My..other dad would buy me a new toy or something and if I didn't express enough gratitude for it, or play with it every day for hours, it would piss him off. He'd get drunk, start calling me a spoiled ungrateful brat. I'd start crying, he'd start calling me a pussy that needed to man up. Then he'd start hitting me. Supposedly teaching me how to take a hit, how to be a man."

It was hard to imagine someone doing this to a little boy that had been near the same age as little Rickon was now. But as Jon elaborated on the abuse, she felt herself beginning to clearly understand why he was the way he was.

"I could never do anything right enough for him. He tried to teach me how to play Poker one time. I really tried, but he wasn't patient. He got annoyed if he had to repeat anything more than once. So he just gave up and told me I was stupid. Then there was the time he tried to teach me how to swim. That was well...traumatizing."

He didn't elaborate, but Sansa didn't actually feel like he needed to. "He tried to teach me times tables, how to ride a bike, how to change a spare. But it was always more of a 'do it right or you'll get punished' challenge for me."

"Oh gods, Jon," Sansa said, holding her brothers hand. "I knew he...hit you. But I always thought it was more of a spanking."

"It started that way," he said. "Make me pull down my shorts and underwear, lay across his knee, and he'd give me a couple of licks on my butt. But it moved beyond that. Way beyond that. Probably because around five, I got numb to spankings and stopped crying. Guess he had to find other ways to really hurt me. But eventually, I was numb to all of it, and nothing he did to me could make me cry.""

"And then you started hurting other people," she said softly.

"You're never going to let that go, huh," he said.

"I don't mean to throw that in your face..."

"No, I get it. Psycho Jon. Look I'm not proud of what I did."

"What exactly did you do? With that girl?"

He sighed. But his sigh didn't suggest that he didn't want to tell her. If anything, for the first time, it looked as if he did want her to know more about that incident that led to child protective services taking custody of Jon, shortly before he came to live with them. "Her name was Ygritte. Little wild, skinny, funny looking girl with crooked teeth and unruly red hair. Her mom knew my mom. She'd babysit me sometimes when my mom...worked a shift. So me and Ygritte played a lot."

He started playing with the tip of his sisters fingers, as he recounted the story. "Sometimes her old man would play poker with my old man down in her dads basement. It would be a bunch of them down there playing for hours. If my dad won, I'd get a new toy, and my mom would get a new coat or something. But if he lost, we had to be in pins and needles. But anyway, they were so caught up in their game, they barely paid any attention to us kids. They stuck me and Ygritte up in her room one afternoon while they gambled down in the basement."

Jon half chuckled. "Her toys were kind of shitty so she begged me to take her down to my house so we could get some of my stuff. We didn't bother to tell anyone we were leaving. My house was just up the street. So we went to my place, went into my room, dumped out my best toys, and started playing. When she pulled out my battle ship and toy boats, I got the bright idea to fill my tub with water so we could have a naval battle."

Sansa could picture little Jon playing with his toys with his little play date, and the innocent image almost warmed her heart. But she knew how this story ended. She knew the innocence of this little girl was about to be ruined by her brother, and that made her eyes swell with tears. 

"After ten minutes or so, I asked her if I could pour water over her face. I told her I wanted to do it for ten seconds. And if she wanted, she could do it to me next."

"So what happened?"

"She let me. And I let her. She didn't really understand what was supposed to be fun about it, but she laughed. So I asked if I could dunk her head under the water and hold it for ten seconds." She felt his hands squeeze her hands tighter as his eyes left her. "She agreed to ten seconds. She could hold her breath for ten seconds, easy. Ten seconds." He brought his eyes up to his sister. "I held her down for longer than ten seconds, Sansa. Something evil came over me. And I held her down longer than ten seconds."

"What did you feel?" she asked him, her eyes narrowed on him. "As you were holding her down."

"I felt... _alive_. I looked down at her, saw her struggling, the bubbles coming out of her mouth and nostrils, and I thought, her life is in my hands," he recounted, his voice shaking, his hands trembling as he squeezed her hands. He turned his head and sighed away from her face. "I've never felt that kind of control before. That kind of power."  His grip on her loosened and then he looked at her again. "She estimated to the police that I held her down for 15 or 20 seconds. But even if I held her down 5 seconds longer than we agreed, those five seconds were an eternity. When I let her come up, and the spell was broken, and I saw the fear on her face, I knew I was a monster."

Sansa allowed his confession to sit without comment for a long time before she asked him what happened next. 

"She ran home crying and told her mom I tried to drown her. Her dad wanted to kill me. My dad beat the shit outta me. And that was the last straw. Police were called, child protective services. My dad caught a child abuse charge, which violated his probation. He had a record with a bunch of domestic shit. They also threw my mom in jail after they found drugs in our house, heroine, and opiods. Also found a loaded gun under the mattress. Lots of abuse and neglect charges were thrown around. Courts decided I needed help and I needed a new home."

"I'm so sorry Jon." She felt so inadequate, because all she had to give him were lame apologies. 

"What are you apologizing for? I'm the one that should apologize. I shook up the lives of several families. I'll never be able to forgive myself for that."

"I knew it was bad.  You hear 'tried to drown girl' and know it's bad. But I guess I never truly put myself in your place, in your head, to see what you were going through when you did what you did."

"Fuck what was going on in my head, think about Ygritte, and the trauma she's gonna have for the rest of her life because of me. She's the victim, not me," he said with real despair in his voice. "I remember the courts made me make her an apology card. Decorated it with sparkles and shit. And I had to tell her I was sorry. I made the card. Wrote in crayon, in big blue and green letters that I was sorry. But I couldn't give it to her. I ran out the room. Ran away any time they tried to arrange a meeting between her family and me. I just couldn't face her. I'm a fucking coward."

"You haven't talked to her since?"

He shook his head. "My therapist thinks I should write her."

"Why don't you?"

"Because I'm a fucking coward."

"I don't think you're a coward," she told him softly. She truly believed Jon was brave to confess these thoughts to her. And she felt it within her soul that it was her sisterly duty to help him forgive himself. That meant, one day, he would have to write to Ygritte and seek her forgiveness.  But she didn't want to force him before he was ready. 

She wanted a change of direction in the conversation, so she smiled. "Do you like it here yet?"

"Sure, I guess. I'm used to it now. I like everone mostly."

"Mostly," she repeated. "I guess you're talking about my mom."

"No your mom's nice. Too nice if anything. I just know she doesn't want me here, around her kids."

"I think she's still sore that my daddy....our daddy was with your mom right before he married my mom."

"I don't blame her. Guess that might be why I can't really relax and accept this as my home. It's not really my place to be here. I still think they are going to send me back to my mom whenever the courts allow it."

"Do you want to go back?"

"I dunno," he shrugged. "Sometimes, I do. I miss her a lot. Even though I kind of hate her, too."

"Why do you hate her?" she asked. 

"She could have stopped my other dad. She never did."

"She was being hurt too," Sansa argued.

Jon shook his head. "Could you let that happen to your son? Could you just sit there and smoke a cigarette while a man kicked your son in the stomach?"

"No," she answered, seeing Jon's point, and feeling his pain. "I could never do that."

He nodded. "It's weird. My therapist asks me this all the time, if I forgive her, and why I seem to have more anger for her than him, but I can't really explain what I feel."

"You're explaining it to me."

"Only because you've shared a lot with me," he said.

"Yeah and I kind of feel guilty about it. I know you said not to feel bad but I can't help it. I'm bitching about popularity and stuff while you've been seriously hurt by the people that are supposed to protect you."

"And I'm going to say it again until you accept it. Don't feel bad about how you think or feel. It's not right to be ashamed of things you can't control. Especially sadness."

"But that's the thing. Sometimes I'm not even sad when I want to hurt. Sometimes, I just want the rush. It's, like, thrilling or something. It's just so confusing. I wish I knew why I get like that."

Jon put a hand to her leg and spread it open again, to see the scars inside her thigh. "How about this. Next time I go to therapy, I'll bring this up, the cutting and stuff. Then I'll come back and let you know what he says."

"Thank you so much, Jon."

"No big deal, he'll probably be glad to talk about something other than my thoughts."

"No, I mean for everything. For not judging me. Or making fun of me. For listening."

"Everybody deserves that, Sansa."

She got up to leave but before she left, she turned back and said "I know what I want doesn't really matter, but, well, I hope you stay with us for good."

*****

Sansa was 12 on the day that would forever mark her transition from childhood to young adult.

She wiggled her loose tooth back and forth while her mom fussed over the fact that her daughter had gotten her first period. 

"What are the odds?" her mother asked. "Losing your last baby tooth and getting your flowering on the same day."

Sansa continued wiggling the tooth with her tongue, wondering what it truly meant to lose your baby teeth, and start bleeding from your vagina. How did it make her different? What did it change about her life, going forward?

"Do you want me to pull it for you, sweety?" her mother asked.

"No," she said before putting her tongue back to the loose tooth.

Her friends had started bleeding before her, or so they said, so she knew what to expect in terms of cramps and pads and tampons. And since she'd been anticipating finally joining the "womanhood club," with the rest of the middle school girls, maybe that was why getting her first period didn't freak her out as much as losing her baby teeth did. Maybe that was why she was reluctant to just pull it from her gums and be done with her childhood.

Eventually, she grew bored of hearing her mother talk about this new period of Sansa's life, and went upstairs to find Jon.

"Hey," she said, sitting on his bed as he played video games.

"Wassup," he said, not looking up from the tv.

"Do you think it means anything if I lose my baby teeth and get my period on the same day?"

"Mean anything like what?" he asked, briefly looking at her while still mashing away at the controller.

She shrugged. "I dunno. I guess it would be like if you lost your baby teeth the same day you started getting wet dreams, or something."

"The hell do you know about wet dreams?" he asked, giving her a longer look this time.

"I've taken sex-education, Jon."

"Bet you pulled an A-plus too," he joked. When she didn't laugh he turned away back towards his game. "Seriously though, I think it's just a coincidence. I always get annoyed how people think everything must happen for a reason. Sometimes shit just happens."

"Sometimes the gods do make things happen for a reason," she retorted.

"We'll just agree to disagree."

"You don't believe that the gods will things sometimes?"

"I don't believe in gods, so no."

That answer jarred her. "What do you mean?"

"I'm an atheist," he said, peaking at her out of the side of his eye.

"Atheist? But...you don't even believe in the old gods?"

"I think people made it all up. White Walkers and Tree Gods and Children of the Forest. I figured it out in world religions class this semester. The people in Essos worship R'hollor. And the people in the Summer Isles worship a fertility goddess. The Yi Ti people worship a Lion God. And there are a bunch of others. How do we know which gods are true, and which are bullshit? What separates the Drowned God from the flying spaghetti monster?"

Sansa had yet to take world religions. She had no idea what region of the world even worshiped the flying spaghetti monster. She could only shrug at the question and wiggle her loose tooth with her tongue. It hurt. But it also felt really good. 

"I mean, if the gods do exist, they're all dicks because of the worlds suffering. So who cares what they will," he added.

It wasn't until she felt her mouth wet with the taste of blood did she realize she had pushed her tooth out with her tongue.

*****

Jon and Sansa sat on the edge of the pool, with their feet in the water, discussing his latest trip to his therapist.

"He talked about how some teens self harm to take control of their body as they go through puberty and stuff. He thinks it may also be a response to your body being judged at school."

"Does he think I'm anti-social?" she asked.

"Didn't say. He kept asking me why I wanted to talk about 'my friend' so much. Asked me if 'this friend' was my girlfriend."

"What'd you say?" she asked.

He shrugged with a smirk. "I told him yeah."

She laughed hard. "Oh so I'm your girlfriend now?"

"Just in therapy."

"Sooo, are we having sex?" she asked.

"Not yet," he eyed her. "I mean.."

"I know what you mean," she quickly said.

They looked away from each other.

"He does think I'm going to start having sex soon. He says survivors of abuse tend to become sexually active earlier than their peers."

"Well, is he right? Are you going to?" she asked, curiously. He was almost 14. That was older than some of the boys she knew that were having sex.

"Nah," he shook his head. "I wouldn't have anyone to do it with anyway."

"In my grade you do," she smirked. "Cersei thinks you're hot. Margaery too. You remember that dance we did for you?"

"Yeah, I remember."

"You never told me why you left right in the middle of it," she said.

"I wasn't about to sit there and watch that."

She felt a pang of embarrassment. "It was Cersei's idea. She wanted to show off in front of you."

"Yeah I figured as much. Robb told me she did the same thing when he was around."

"She's an attention whore," Sansa said. 

Jon nodded his agreement. 

"She felt bad about not being voted the hottest girl in our class," Sansa said, pressing her tongue to the spot where her final adult tooth was growing in. "Do you ever vote for those lists? Like, best ass, best boobs, hottest girl?"

"No, those lists are stupid," he said. "Causes way too much drama. But I hear about em. The lists from my class are a little more...graphic."

"Best dick sucking lips, best blowjobs, that kind of stuff?" she asked.

"How you know?"

"We hear about them too," she said. "One of the 8th grade girls told us about the list she made. She was voted best blowjob."

"You must be talking about Armeca," Jon said.

She nodded. "She's popular in the locker room?"

"If that's what you want to call it. Everyone thinks she's a slut because she did it with like two guys from the football team after the game."

Sansa tried to imagine what that must have been like, two guys at once, entering her one after the other. She wondered how it even happened. Did the two guys take turns kissing her? Did they each help with taking off her clothes? Did she have to unbuckle two different belt buckles? How did they do it? Was she on her back? Was she on her hands and knees? She imagined it was hands and knees, with one guy inside her, and the other inside her mouth. She couldn't help imagine herself in that position, taking two guys at once.

The thoughts filled her with shame. But they also filled her with excitement.

She decided that the shame she felt was the correct way to feel, and the excitement was the bad part of her trying to come alive. Good girls don't take on two guys at once. Sluts do.

Even still, she couldn't help but feel bad for Armeca.

"I hate how everyone just talks about each other behind their backs," Sansa said, thinking about all of the scandalous rumors she'd heard about the girl recently. Some of the people that spread the rumors were supposed to be her friends, too. "It makes me wonder what people say about me behind my back." She wiggled her feet around in the water, thinking about her closest friends. She wondered which of them could she trust to never talk about her behind her back? Which of them would betray her if they ever found out a devastating secret? "The other day we were playing a game at lunch where each of us went around and said which super power we would have if we could only choose one. Margaery picked flight. Cersei picked never aging. Jeyne picked controlling time. I picked telepathy."

"You'd want to read minds?" Jon asked, his eyebrow raised.

She nodded. "There's so many fake people at school. So many fake friends, and teachers faking like they like you. I just hate fake people. If I had telepathy, I'd never have to wonder whose real, and whose fake. I'd just know. And that would make it so much easier to go through life."

"Eh, I hear you but I think Margaery won that little game," Jon said. "It's probably not the best to be inside another persons head. Just endless disappointment, knowing their every thought. I'd off myself if I knew that much about the people around me. Nah, you don't wanna know the evil shit people think about."

She reflected on his words before turning to him. "Are you still having your bad thoughts? About hurting..."

Jon smiled before lifting his feet out of the water and standing up. "That's for me and my therapist to know."

*****

"You're doing so good!" Ned Stark said, cheering his oldest boy on. "Just like that, tread the water, kick your feet."

It brought a true and powerful smile to Sansa's face, watching Jon in the deep end of the pool, his head above water, his body working to keep him from sinking.

*****

It was one of those lazy Sunday afternoons, where it was too hot to go outside, and no one was around to do anything fun. So Sansa went to find Jon.

He was on the sofa in the living room flipping through the channels, watching nothing in particular. He looked up at her and offered her the remote. "You wanna watch something?"

She flopped down on the sofa next to him and gladly accepted the remote. She turned to the golf channel, where a riveting tournament was taking place. Well, riveting for her, but clearly boring as hell to him.

"We can watch something else," she said.

"No it's cool. There was nothing on that I wanted to watch anyway."

"Do you follow the rules and everything?" she asked.

"Put the ball in hole," he said like a smartass.

She tried explaining the finer details. Stokes, putts, eagles, bogeys, roughs, fairways. He seemed like he was trying to follow along, but as she explained to him the the different clubs, she looked over and saw his head tilted back, and his eyes closed.

"Jon," she said, giving him a little shake. But he was gone.

She wanted to be mad that he fell asleep on her. But when she leaned back against his body, she found it more amusing than anything. She had to admit watching golf _was_ kind of boring. She loved playing the sport but she only liked watching it with other people, like her dad or Robb. She could also give him credit for at least trying to watch with her.

She got herself comfortable against his chest, and continued to watch as professionals teed off. When she heard her parents walk through the front door, her first thought was to jump up. But why? She wasn't doing anything wrong. Relaxing on the sofa with her brother wasn't incesteous or anything. It was completely normal.

But for some inexplicable reason, she decided to close her eyes, and pretend as if she was sleeping, so she wouldn't have to answer why she was laying with her brother.

She heard when her parents footsteps stopped, and they her and Jon 'sleeping', while golf was on the 4K flat screen.

"Should...we wake them up?" she heard her mother ask.

"No, Cat. No. Why? They are just taking a nap. Let them be," she heard her father say.

The panic in her mothers voice and reassurance in her fathers voice made her feel weird. Like there was something truly improper about laying on her brother.

She didn't want it to be wrong. She really didn't. She was just napping with him, just like her daddy said. Nothing more, nothing less.

But try as she could to rationalize her feelings, she couldn't explain to herself why her heart was beating so hard and fast.

*****

Jon was relaxing on a pool float when Sansa decided to dive into the water to splash him awake. "Sansa," he screamed as she tilted his float and forced him into the water. And then came the chase under the water. In just a few months, he went from a boy afraid to get into the water to a swimmer that could chase a girl under the water like a shark after prey. And when he caught his giggling sister, he tickled her until she gave up.

Face to face near the edge, she grabbed his hands and brought them to her neck. He tried to pull away but she used all of her strength to keep his hands there. "Hold me down in the water. Hold me as long as you want to. "

"No."

"It's okay," she said with zero reservation, hoping she sounded truly convincing. "I want you to."

"I'm not going to do that to you," he said angrily.

"I want you to feel alive," she told him. "I don't want you to have to bury your thoughts and desires and feelings."

"I don't want to hurt you," he said, his cracking voice betraying his words.

"Jon. Just do it," she told him softly while staring into his dark brown eyes. "I trust you."

She eyed him, encouraging him with her soft eyes until she saw his face harden. When she felt his hands wrap around her neck, she gasped. She was terrified of the sudden change, horrified at the darkness she saw in him.

But she wanted to see him like this. The rush of excitement was thrilling. But she made the mistake of not taking in a deep breath before she went under. 

It felt surreal when she felt the full strength of his hands against her neck as he pushed her down. 

She looked up at him as he held her under, his grip around her neck tightening. He was biting his teeth, and there was a wild, feral, angry look upon his face. She'd never seen him like this before.

She opened her mouth, but there was no breath of life under the water. Just more water to rush into her mouth and fill her lungs, and drown her. All while she looked up at this boy, this awakened monster, that held her life in his strong powerful hands.

She'd counted the first 20 seconds. But time felt slow and unnatural under the water. She couldn't be certain how long she'd been under, 30 seconds, 40? She just knew it felt like they were solidly beyond the 20 seconds that brought that little girl to tears.  And the strength against her neck and dark look on his face didn't look any closer to going away. 

And then it hit her. The realization that made her feel dizzy and horrified and excited.

_Jon might kill me._

She couldn't hold on much longer. She felt herself on the verge. The verge of what? She was too afraid to know what came after this feeling of nearly being drowned.

But the same weight that forced her into the water and held her body, suddenly yanked her up. As she gasped for air, tears leaked from eyes that were probably red, but while she tried to regain her composure, she could hear Jon freaking out as he pattered her back. "Fuck, are you okay? I'm sorry. I held you too long. I held you too fucking long."

But all she could do was laugh and cough and burp up the water she'd swallowed. Her coughing and laughing seemed to confuse and anger him. She wanted to let him know she wasn't angry. He didn't need to apologize.

"Wow," she panted. "That was intense."

He got out of the water. "Where..where you going?" she called after him. "I'm fine, Jon. Really, I'm fine."

*****

Sansa eased Robb's door open and peaked in on him as he practiced his guitar. "Have you seen Jon?"

"You could knock," Robb said, not even looking up as he went through a chord progression. 

"I did, you didn't answer."

"Well knock louder next time. I could have been naked or something."

"I could hear you playing your guitar," she said flatly. "But whatever, I'll knock louder next time. Have you seen Jon?"

"He isn't here," Robb said, still not giving her the courtesy of eye contact. 

"Obviously he isn't here, Robb. Where is he?"

"Why? What do you want?" he asked, annoyed.

"None of your business," she said, not hiding her own annoyance. "If you know where he is, tell me and stop being an ass."

"Dad took him to therapy or whatever," Robb said, playing a louder tune. 

"On a Saturday?" she said, having to raise her voice to be heard. 

He finally stopped playing and looked up.

"Yes, San. On a Saturday. I guess he had _really_ fucked up thoughts today." Robb shrugged. "Maybe he's thinking about drowning someone else's kid and needs a new drug prescription."

"That's not funny," she said, feeling both defensive over Jon and self conscious about herself.  "That's not cool at all. Making fun of his condition."

"You do know why he came to live with us, right? It wasn't just because his mom and that other guy were crazy."

"Yes I know the whole story," she said. "That's why I know it's wrong to talk about him like that. He's trying his best to be better. And I think he's doing a lot better."

"Trying his best huh? That's rich," he said, dismissing her defense of Jon, before turning his attention back to his guitar. 

She grabbed the football sitting on his dresser of trophies and gold medals and aimed her anger right at the smirk on his face. It hit him with a satisfyingly loud smack. 

"Sansa!" he barked, throwing his guitar down and grabbing his forehead. "What the FUCK!?"

She knew that look on his face meant she better hightail it out of there. She raced towards her room, hoping to slam the door in his face and lock him out but he pushed the door open before she was able to and wrestled her down to the floor.

"Why the hell did you hit me?" he asked, his body pressed between her thighs, his arms holding her arms flat on the carpet. 

"Get off me," she yelled, before trying to knee him in the groin. But he used superior strength to hold her legs apart while keeping her arms locked in place. Somehow, she'd stupidly forgot that he was a medalist on the wrestling team. 

"Tell me you're sorry!" he demanded as he pinned her down.

"No, you say you're sorry!"

His confusion informed his anger. "For what? You hit me!"

"For making fun of our brother," she yelled. She tried to wiggle free but he was far too strong. She felt helpless.

"When did you become so defensive over him?" he asked. 

"Someone has to be defensive over him," she said. "He's our brother. Not some nut case."

"You're a nutcase today," he said, looking down at her.

"Let me go."

"Say sorry for hitting me."

"Say sorry for making fun of Jon."

"You really think he's getting better?" he spat, once he realized Sansa wasn't going to apologize. "Do you have any idea what kind of stuff he looks at when he thinks no one is paying attention?"

She held her tongue. She wanted to say she knew him a hell of a lot better than Robb did. But something about the way he was talking made her doubt if she knew everything that she should have known. What did Robb know that she didn't? And would the knowledge change her opinion of Jon?

She wasn't sure if she wanted to know. 

He relinquished the grip he had on her arms, shook his head, and pulled himself and her off the floor. She knew from the look on his face that he wanted her to follow him, so she did. 

When they were back in his room, he sat down at his desk and logged into his computer. "He doesn't seem to realize what he looks at on his tablet syncs up with my stuff."

He clicked around and brought up a browsing history, moving the mouse cursor over dozens and dozens and dozens of pornographic titles. "Look at the time. This is what he's watching at 3 in the morning on a school night."

 

_Dumb bimbo stripper gets her asshole blasted by a phat cock_

 

_Stupid 18-year-old ballerina gets her fart box stuffed by two huge cocks_

 

_Super hot milf gets spanked and drilled in her ass by stepson_

 

_Son gives black haired stepmom a hard fuck and NASTY facial_

 

_Schoolgirl ROUGH slapping, choking, ANAL and Throat Abuse_

 

_Sexy bitch gets kidnapped, degraded, and violated in public by pack of bikers_

 

_Girl next door gets messy facial after intense throat abuse and ass fuck_

 

_Compilation of the hottest sluts crying from extreme gangbangs (Only the best scenes!)_

 

"Look at the sites he gets this crap from," Robb said, pointing to sites that featured words like "abuse" and "extreme" prominently. "I think he hates women or something."

Her mind worked overtime trying to come up with a defense. "Well, what kind of porn do you look at?" she asked, trying to deflect. 

"Cute girls with big tits," he shrugged. "Normal stuff. I'm definitely not looking up dumb bitches being spanked and choked and butt fucked."

He moved the mouse to again point to the video about the milf and stepson. "I think it all goes back to his mom. Since she was a stripper and everything."  Robb shook his head rather than elaborate on the connection between Jon's mother being a stripper and Jon watching porn about strippers and stepmons being fucked and spanked. "And look at his actual keyword searches"

Suddenly, this voyeuristic look into Jon's porn history felt very wrong. She felt as if she was violating him in some way, betraying his trust. "I don't want to see anymore," she said angrily. 

"I just thought you should see what you're so determined to defend," Robb said. "Jon's kind of messed up in the head. And he has a porn addiction.  Mom and dad have done all they can for him, but seven hells, he's got to help himself. I'm no snitch. I keep my mouth shut. But it's no wonder he comes to school tired and sluggish all the time. He spends all night watching women get abused."

"Do you realize some of the abuse he faced?" she asked. 

"He was beaten and stuff. I know."

"You say you know but if you actually sympathized, then you wouldn't say the things you say about him," Sansa said, shaking her head. "If you actually loved Jon, you would try to understand where he's coming from. You'd be a better brother to him."

"This isn't about me," he argued. "He's the one fucking up. And has a million excuses for everything. Like, what childhood trauma explains why he can't even keep his fucking room clean?"

"You were born with a silver spoon up your ass," she yelled at him. "You haven't dealt with anything close to the trauma Jon has dealt with. Yet you feel like you can judge him? All I'm asking is that you have more sympathy for him. But I guess you're just too perfect to show any concern for someone with flaws."

She stormed off as Robb tried to continue their argument. But she wasn't even willing to listen. She was furious at him for being so callous, but even more, she was angry at herself for doing a piss poor job of defending Jon. In fact, she'd stood there and basically let Robb write their oldest brother off. 

Around an hour later, Robb came downstairs and found Sansa sitting by herself outside on the swing.

He'd changed clothes, too. Now he sported a polo and slacks, as if he was headed to the country club near their house.

"What do you want?" she asked when he joined her on the swings.

He sighed. "I thought about what you said."  She remained silent, looking away from him. "I'm sorry, alright? I shouldn't have said what I said about Jon."

She was surprised to hear Robb apologize, but she still felt angry and sad, not necessarily at him, just in general. But she also didn't want to let Robb off the hook that easy. She felt like part of the problem was that Robb and Jon weren't close. And because of it, she had to be the one to get to know Jon and empathize with him. Robb should have been that person, not her. 

"Well, it's nice to know that you realize that you're an ass," she said, not giving him the eye contact he sought. 

"Come on San. Don't make this harder for me," he said. "You're right. I'm wrong. He's our brother and I should be more sensitive to what he's dealing with. I should...be more sympathetic."

She found his eyes and searched through them. She knew her brother. They were best friends when they were little, before they joined private school. And even though age and gender had split them into different friend groups, social circles, and activities, she still felt like she knew his character and spirit better than anyone else. She knew when he was being genuine, and this was one of those times.

"I think you should hang out with him more," she said. "At school, especially."

"San, I've tried to fit him in with my friends. He barely gives an effort. It's like, we're going out our way to include him in with our jokes and conversations, but he genuinely seems bored by our efforts. I can't force my friends to keep trying." He looked hard at her. "Why don't you let him sit with your friends?"

She realized he had a point. Jon would sooner skip lunch than join her and her friends at the lunch table. "I don't know what to do to make him better."

"It's not up to you to make him better though, it's not up to any of us to make him better. All we can do is try to be there when he needs us. I'll try to be better about that," Robb said before putting his hand on her shoulder. "I'll try to be as understanding and protective as my sis. But if I fail, at least he's lucky enough to have you on his side."

She didn't really want to smile, but it came upon her without warning, as she gazed his way. "I'm sorry for throwing the football at you."

He made a facial expression that seemed to acknowledge and accept her apology before cracking his knuckle. "I'm gonna tell coach Bobby about you."

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"He's been looking for a new quarterback. Had no idea you were hiding a strong arm like that," he smirked before gripping her bare arm with his hand and squeezing. "You threw that shit at me like a superbowl touchdown pass to win the game. That shit hurt."

She couldn't help but laugh as she wrestled her throwing arm away from his clutch. She wondered if she would get a bruise from being wrestled and pinned to the floor. She kind of hoped she would.  "Just a fraction of the pain he feels when he has to talk to his therapist about all of the shit he's had to face."

"Okay, okay. I get it," he said, throwing up his hands. "I'm a bad brother. I'm sorry. I'll be better." he hopped off the swing and extended his hand to her. "Let me start being a better brother now."

"What are you talking about?" she asked, leaving him hanging. 

"I'm talking about you taking my hand, getting your ass up and going upstairs to get dressed, so we can go to the green and I can remind you who the best golfer in this family is."

"That's definitely not you," she said. "I'm seven or eight strokes better than you. Easy work."

"Well prove it," he said.

"I already did prove it," she said. "Last time we played, I beat you so bad you banged your nine iron up from being so frustrated."

"Well this ain't last time," he said, waving his hand in her face. "I already called and got a game reserved for two."

She wanted to wait until Jon got back so she could talk to him about yesterday, talk to him about his sudden need to go to therapy on a weekend. But an afternoon on the green seemed like a very pleasant way to sooth her mind and release some energy. Plus, she loved beating Robb.

"When I beat you, you're buying me lunch," she said as she gave him her hand. "I have a taste for fish and chips, and a slice of humble pie on the side."

As they walked back towards the house, he bumped her with his shoulder, while they talked trash. Looking up at him, she realized how much he'd grown since the last time they played a full 18 holes, head to head.

She appreciated his growth. There was something rewarding about watching her big brother go from a boy to a young man.

*****

When Jon was grounded for a month for skipping school, Sansa felt obligated to keep him company. She felt it could potentially be dangerous to keep him confined in a room for days at a time. 

But he wasn't opening up to her anymore. Not since what happened in the pool. 

"Do you want to talk?" she asked him on day 8 of his punishment, as he sat in his room writing in his journal. 

"No."

"Are you mad?" she asked. "Upset about me? Or anything else? How are you feeling, like really?"

He put his down journal with a sigh. "Seven hells, Sansa. You're not my therapist. I'm fine. A little bored. I'd rather get a spanking than endure this locked up in a room crap. But I'm not claustrophobic or anything. It's not that bad. I'm not that fragile. I can handle being grounded."

She thought about the spankings and beatings he'd endured over his life. She wrestled with her thoughts and feelings. "Well, do you want to, maybe, I don't know, give me a spanking?"

"Huh?"

"To relieve some frustration or pent up anger?"

He sighed. "Get out of my room."

"I'm serious. I'll let you spank me if you want to."

"Stop, just stop," he said angrily as he rolled out of bed. "This is getting really old. I'm not your charity case. And I don't want to hurt you. And if you keep teasing me like this I'm going to tell your parents about your cutting."

"I'm not trying to tease you," she tried to explain but she could see that now wasn't the time to argue with him. "Fine. I'll leave. But if you ever get so angry that you want to hurt someone. Like we did in the pool, or if you want to put me over your knee and spank me. I'll let you."

He pushed her out and slammed the door shut in her face.

*****

On Halloween night, Robb invited Jon to hang out with his hockey buddies, including Theon and Ramsay, as they went and terrorized King's Landing. None of them were old enough to drive yet, but an older boy from the hockey team had his dads car for the night, and after stopping by the market to get some rolls of toilet paper they were planning to go cruising around for girls and trouble. They were even talking about stopping by a high school party. Sansa knew because she overheard them talking about it in the den. 

It sounded like a lot of fun. A dangerous, thrilling, naughty type of fun that was reserved for cool high school kids. But Sansa was 13, in 8th grade, while her brothers were freshmen in high school. Thus, she was a little girl, and definitely wasn't allowed to come with them. Not because they explicitly told her she coulnd't come, but because it was just an unwritten rule that middle school kids weren't cool enough to hang around cool high school kids. 

As the boys prepared to leave the house - Robb, wearing his lettermen jacket (since he was good enough as a freshman to make the Varsity hockey team), and the others with their school jackets - her father stopped to ask them where their Halloween costumes were. Jon showed off his vampire teeth while the others produced hockey masks from their backpacks. Pitiful 'costumes", but just enough for them to pretend that they were dressed in spirit to celebrate the holiday, and they just weren't going out to get into trouble. 

"You boys have fun, but be back by curfew," their father told them.

Sansa watched from her window as the boys piled into the car to go have their high school fun. She wished she was going with them. 

Instead, she was tasked with trick-or-treating with her siblings. Her little kid sister and brothers.  Halloween had always been her favorite holiday, where she got to dress up and eat candy, but this whole holiday seemed silly now. Especially when Arya kicked open her door wearing her Batman costume, and threw a batarang at her for taking too long to get ready. 

"Hurry it up. I want candy," she said in a raspy, shadowy voice that was supposed to be Batman. 

Bran came to her room dressed like Harry Potter, and Rickon followed him dressed like John Cena. And they were all annoyingly in character. 

"Get out so I can get dressed," she told them. 

When she finally pulled her outfit and hair together, she left with her younger siblings dressed like Rey from Star Wars. She and her mom had spent a lot of times getting all of the details of the costume just right. She should have been proud of how it came together. She really looked like Rey. But as she held a glowing plastic lightsaber with one hand, and rang doorbells and got her pumpkin pail filled with bite sized chocolates and fruity treats, she realized that she was just too old for this kiddie stuff.

By the time they'd stopped by about half a dozen houses, Sansa was done. Arya kept being rude to everyone that couldn't figure out who she was supposed to be. "I'm not Batgirl, I'm BAT _MAN_."

Rickon kept flexing his non-existent muscles before saying "you can't see me" to anyone that passed by them, while Bran refused to speak in anything but his horrendous accent. _This is so embarrassing._

"I'm going home," she said after checking her social media and seeing Cersei - dressed in a sexy Wonder Woman costume with her cleavage exposed- posting from some party that she hadn't been invited to. 

"We're not ready yet," Arya said. "We didn't even go to the Manderly's yet. And the fat man gives out full sized candy bars."

"Whatever, you're 11. You're old enough to be out here by yourself. I'm going home."

When Sansa walked into her house, her parents of course asked what was wrong, why was she back so early, and where were her siblings. "I'm not trick-or-treating anymore. It's for babies."

She didn't want to do little kid stuff anymore. She wanted to go to parties, and ride around with her friends in cars.  She didn't want to dress like a little kid either. She wanted to wear something sexy. Something that showed off her own cleavage. Something that showed everyone that she wasn't baby. Something that could make her feel grown up. 

So she went to her bedroom and pulled every rack of clothes from her walk-in closet. She made a big pile of kiddle clothes that she would never wear again. 

*****

The first kissing party Sansa ever attended was of course, at Cersei's house. 

It was supposed to be a sleepover with just 8th grade girls, but Cersei was a naughty one, and she had managed to invite over several boys from school. She also stole bottle of wine from the wine cellar, both so they could spin, but also to experience getting tipsy.

But before the boys arrived, the girls were busy freaking out over what they knew would be expected of them at a kissing party. Most of them had never kissed a boy before.

"It's easy, you just press your lips against theirs and when they open their mouth you shove your tongue down their throat," Cersei explained. "I've done it a bunch of times."

"With who? Jaime?" Margaery grinned.

"No, Loras," Cersei retorted.

"I think we should practice," Sansa said, to cut through the bickering. "Like, right now."

"With each other?" Margaery asked, as she eyed her best friend. 

"Yeah, why not?" Sansa shrugged.

"You two should go first," Cersei pointed.

Sansa looked at her best friend. The two girls smiled at each other.

"Tongue or no tongue?" Margaery asked.

"Tongue," Cersei answered for them, as if her opinion mattered.

"No tongue for now," Sansa said. "At least the first time."

And with that decided, the two girls finished their glasses of wine, moved closer to each other, held in their giggles and counted down from 3.

When they reached zero, Margaery Tyrell became Sansa's Stark's first kiss.

Cersei was her second.

Jeyne was her third, and Tyene was her fourth.

Margaery and Cersei kissed with tongue. And then Sansa kissed Margaery with tongue.

And by the time the boys arrived, Sansa felt buzzed and ready for this kissing party to "begin."

She kissed four boys that night, and each of them tasted exactly the same, as if they had all brushed their teeth with the same toothpaste and popped the same mints before arriving. Harry, Renly, Trystane, and the one that most surprised everyone, Samwell, the fat Tarly kid.

She was the only one that kissed Sam. All of the other girls made fun of him behind his back at school, and the few times the wine bottle landed on him, the girls made an excuse to spin again. It was clear that he'd only been brought along to the party because his much more attractive brother Dickon was there. You didn't get one Tarly brother without the other. 

Sansa ended up switching spots with Cersei, just so she could spin the bottle in a way where she was sure it would land on her and Sam. She didn't want to see him looking so pathetic anymore. It made her feel sad, and she couldn't enjoy the party with sad people around.

He offered to spin again, and she pretended to pout by grabbing her heart. "You don't want to kiss me?"

"Uh, no, I would love to... but...well. I thought...that you.."

"Sam, shut up and kiss me," she smiled. 

She leaned in and waiting for him to gather the courage to meet her. And in front of shocked faces, she kissed him sweetly, tenderly. It was the longest kiss she gave any boy that night. And when she pulled back, Sam's entire face was red. He looked as if he was on fire. And that made her feel good. 

Sansa ended up in the makeout closet with Trystane, but after a short kiss where Sansa kept her eyes open the entire time, afraid that he might try to touch her in the dark, they just talked the entire 15 minutes that they were stuck together. He was too nervous to try anything else, which she was happy for. He was a perfect gentleman.

After the boys left, the girls stayed up late laughing into the night, recounting their their night of fun, their breaths smelling of mints and wine. Sansa had enjoyed the night because it was different and exciting, but she wasn't really sure if she really liked any of the kisses with the boys, except the one with Sam. She said as much to the girls, who seemed shocked by the confession. 

"Sam was the best kiss?!" Cersei nearly choked. "Seven hells, I felt so bad for you. I thought you were only doing it to be nice so he didn't start crying or something. I didn't know you actually liked it. I thought you were just a good actor."

"Sam's sweet," Sansa said. "And I could tell he really appreciated it. His eyes just lit up the rest of the night and he kept smiling."

"Trystane had a big smile after you guys came out of the closet," Tyene said. 

"Yeah but, it was like, a self satisfied grin. With Sam, he smiled like that was the best moment of his life. So that made it nicer. I dunno, I guess I feel more of a connection when the kiss means something, and isn't just another notch on a guys belt."

"Well that's gross," Cersei ended up saying before she returned to her favorite subject; herself. While Sansa had felt accomplished with kissing for the first time, Cersei made that accomplishment seem small compared to her rapid level of maturity. "Well, bitches, guess who had her pussy ate tonight," she boasted.

"Who?" Jeyne asked. "Not you."

"Yes, me," she grinned. "Why do you think me and Renly were in there so long? We went to third base. And he made me cum."

"You're lying," Margaery said.

"You sucked his dick?"

"Well, no. I played with his dick," she said, using her hand to simulation giving a handjob. "Got him off nicely. He screamed like a baby. And then I made him worship my kitty with his tongue."

"You're lying," Margaery repeated. "You were only in there for like ten minutes."

"O-M-G, you are so jealous," Cersei laughed. "It's okay Marg. I'll find you a guy willing to sniff your smelly little flower, soon enough."

"What did it feel like?" Jeyne asked. "Getting head?"

She described what Renly had supposedly done. How he kissed, and licked, and sucked her until she reached her climax. She didn't give enough detail to confirm that it was an authentic story. Margaery remained skeptical. Perhaps because she had a bit of a crush on Renly, and had even slipped him tongue during their kiss, which came after he and Cersei left the makeout closet. 

"Okay, so if you jerked him off, what did you do with the cum? Where'd you wipe it?" Margaery interrogated.

"I licked it all up, duh," she said as if that was obvious. 

"Eww, what did it taste like?" Jeyne asked. 

"It didn't taste like anything because she's lying," Margaery insisted. 

"Yeah Cersei, explain to me what his cum tasted like," Sansa pressed.

"I don't have to prove anything to you haters," she rolled her eyes. "What you should be asking me is how do you get a guy to want to lick between your filthy legs, so you can have the kind of orgasm I had tonight."

"What did that feel like?" Jeyne asked. She was clearly fascinated with this entire thing. "Having an orgasm."

Cersei reflected on that for a moment, her eyes to the ceiling as if she was in deep thought, trying to recapture the moment. "It felt like...like a pleasurable sneeze throughout your entire body. Just a big explosion. The best explosion possible."

Talking about the taste of cum and Cersei's supposed orgasm made Sansa reflect on Halloween.

She got horny thinking about it.

*****

The energy was different as Sansa walked through the hallway at school. She could swear everyone was looking at her, and seeing her in a different light.

By the time she got to lunch, the rumor mill had spit out a tale about a wild party at Cersei's, where boys and girls got drunk, and got freaky in the makeout closet. Virginities were supposedly lost, and reputations were born. 

"Did you hear?" Margaery asked Sansa after fourth period when they met at their locker.

"No, what?"

"Word is going around that you gave Trystain head in the makeout closet."

"What? We kissed for like two seconds," Sansa said. "We talked the rest of the time."

"I know, but that's what's going around. And Trystane isn't denying it either."

"What an asshole," Jeyne said.

Sansa just shook her head and closed her locker. She was going to find Trystane and get to the bottom of this.

But as she walked the hall, she saw a group of boys crowding around Trystane,slapping him on the shoulder. When they saw Sansa approaching, they all started snickering with each other as Trystane avoided eye contact with her and pretended to look for something in his bag.

She felt angry and humiliated. But deeper than that, she felt so defenseless. 

And with Robb and Jon gone on to high school, leaving her with no protective brothers to defend her reputation, defenseless perfectly described her in that moment. And that was a crippling feeling.

Although she'd set out to find Trystane, she didn't even have it in her to confront him with all of his friends there. She just kept walking, content to ignore him. Maybe if she ignored him, the rumors would die down.

*****

"We have reps now that we should at least live up to," Cersei said as she presented her new dildo to her clique of friends. It was large, and fleshy, and she pointed it right at Sansa.  "We're going to be in high school soon. Everyone gives head in high school. So we should probably learn how to be really good cock suckers to be aHEAD of the curve." She laughed at her own pun. "Who wants to go first?"

"I'm not putting that thing in my mouth," Margaery grimaced. "I don't know where that's been."

"I think Sansa should go first," Cersei sneered, ignoring Margaery, as she presented the dildo to Sansa. "Since you have the big rep and all."

*****

Sansa was doing her math homework when she heard Jon at her door. 

"Do you like Theon Greyjoy?" Jon asked.

"What?" Sansa asked, whipping her head around. She was taken back by the question. "Who told you that?"

"Does it matter? Are you into him or not?"

"I mean, kind of. He's cute, and he seems nice. He...he asked me out the other day."

Jon scratched at his chin hair. His facial hair was growing fuller by the day. "You don't think that's weird?"

"That he asked me out?"

"Theon's in high school. I think he should ask out other high school girls."

"We're like, a year a part," Sansa argued. "I'll be in high school in a few months. It's not a big deal. Some of my friends date high school guys."

"Some of your friends are idiots and attention whores," he said. "Don't you have boys your age, at your school, that you could date?" 

"Maybe I don't want to date any of the boys at my school."  Especially now that there were rumors about her being a cock sucker, she wanted to say. But she kept that hidden in her head. She sat up straight. "Why are you asking me this?"

"I wanted to know the truth."

"Do you not want me to date him?" she asked.

"All I know is you better tell Robb you like one of his hockey buddies before he finds out on his own."

"I better?" She chuckled bitterly. "Robb's not my daddy. And what, are you his messenger boy now?

"What the hell do you mean by that?

"If you don't want me to date Theon, then just tell me you don't want me to date him."

"You can do whatever you want," he said before leaving. 

Sansa felt utterly disappointed in this exchange. Why couldn't Jon just tell her what he wanted from her?

She would have cut Theon off if that was what he wanted.

*****

The end of Sansa's 8th grade year was filled with drama. She went on her first date with Theon Greyjoy. Robb nearly flipped out. Jon kept to himself and pretended like he didn't care.

And this set off a chain reaction across two different schools. 

Robb gave Theon the cold shoulder for taking his little sister to the movies. In return, Theon's older brother Euron, a junior on the varsity hockey team, stopped giving Robb a car ride home after hockey practice. 

This led to Robb catching a ride home with Ramsay and his father Roose Bolton.

Unfortunately, Mr. Bolton had to stay late at the office one particular day, so Ramsay and Robb were both forced to find a way home, so they decided to bum a ride with Lancel, a sophomore with a car, who happened to be Cersei's cousin. 

Put a bookmark at Robb and Ramsay needing to catch a ride home from Lancel. 

Rewind a few weeks back from that and we arrive at the falling out between Cersei and Margaery. The two richest girls in school had been friendemies for as long as Sansa could remember, but their friendship was severed completely over a boy. A boy that didn't like either of them, ironically enough. 

Cersei had stared dating Renly shortly after the makeout party and she seemed smitten with him. Not just because he was hot, charismatic, and class president, but also because he was popular and she thought going with him would surely make her queen of the 8th grade dance. But Cersei was insecure, and when she found out that Renly was spending a lot of time at Margaery's house, ostensibly because he was friends with Margaery's brother Loras, she assumed that Margaery was slutting it up to try and steal her man, and the crown of 8th grade dance queen that came with being his girl. 

So Cersei started spreading slutty rumors about Margaery, and Margaery responded in kind by actually living up to the reputation and seducing Cercei's boyfriend Renly, losing her virginity in the process. 

Margaery had described her first time with Renly as awkward, and robotic, and over in two minutes, with neither Margaery nor Renly "finishing", but she spun the story as a conquest, which is how it was received when the news traveled down the school hallways. When Renly couldn't deny that he'd had sex with Margaery, he broke up with Cersei, two days before the 8th grade dance, leaving her without a date to a dance she'd been looking forward to for three years. 

Cersei declared war. Of course Sansa sided with Margaery, her best friend. Jeyne and Tyene, too followed along. And Cersei vowed to destroy all of them. 

Back to Robb needing a ride home after practice.

They found Lancel, who himself stayed late after school because he was one of the leaders of the Faith of the Seven clubs. He agreed to give them rides in his car, but first he needed their help moving some equipment and chairs from the classroom to the storage room. Lancel had been planning to move the things the next morning when he had more help, but with strong boys Robb and Ramsay available, he figured, why not now?

That decision proved fateful, as the three boys ended up walking in on Renly receiving a blowjob from Loras.

A day later, Renly and Loras were anonymously outed as gay lovers on social media.

A week after that, private, intimate, personal, embarrassing and compromising photos and videos of Margaery, Tyene, Jeyne, and Sansa were also anonymously released on social media. Images that could only have come from one person. 

*****

One year removed from the night Sansa declared that she would no longer spend Halloween trick-or-treating, she appeared at her first big high school party. 

She didn't dress up. Dressing up for Halloween wasn't cool. But she did wear an outfit that showed lots of skin and lots of cleavage.

She took a hit of pot for the first time and tried beer. For her part, she still acted more responsibly than Margaery, who ended up drinking so much that she blacked out and puked all over herself. "Get that lightweight outta here," one of the seniors had said. 

Sansa ordered an Uber, and rode with Margaery, making sure she got home safe. She called her brother Loras, and together they helped sneak her into the house, up the stairs, and into the bath tub. 

After Loras left to give them privacy, Sansa helped get the drunk girl out of her rank clothes, then into the warm, soapy bathwater.

"Sansa, I'm so, so sorry," Margaery said, her words slurred and sloppy. "I ruined Halloween. I ruined it."

"Shut up, you didn't ruin anything," she said as she rinsed her best friends hair. "You owe me money on the Uber though."

When Margaery started crying, Sansa said "I was just kidding, honey." But Margaery only continued to sob. 

Sansa thought her sudden tears must have been a sobering effect, but when Margaery looked up at her friend and said "I have to tell you something," she knew this was more serious than embarrassment over getting drunk at a party. 

*****

"It's me," she said after politely knocking on his door.

"It's open," Jon said. 

She slid inside and eased the door shut, customary behavior when she wanted to talk to him about something serious - usually her cutting. But she hadn't talked to him about that in a long time, or anything else personal. She hoped he meant his invitation more than literally. She hoped his door was still open to her. 

He was sitting on his chair, guitar on his knee, an approachable look on his face.

"You sounded really good," she said. 

"Yeah right," he said before setting the guitar aside. "Sounds fucking awful."

"You're getting better."

"Don't lie to me girl," he shook his head. "I only practice cuz your dad spent so much on it. I don't like wasting his money."

Jon had been living with them for almost 7 years, yet he still called his father "your dad" and worried about money being wasted on him. Sansa thought Jon just needed to apply himself more. All he seemingly liked to do was play video games, read, and listen to music. Her father had bought the guitar for his birthday, but quickly learned that just because you liked to listen to music, it didn't mean you wanted to learn how to play it. 

She took a seat and picked up the guitar, stringing it a few times before playing a Taylor Swift melody. While she was nowhere near as good as Robb was, she had picked up a few pointers from him over the years, and was decent enough to have once sing and played "Speak Now" at a talent show. 

He shook his head. "You Stark kids forever put me to shame."

She didn't want to shame him so she put the guitar down. She didn't want to beat around the bush either. "I wanted to ask you something. Are you still going to see your therapist tomorrow?"

His eyebrow raised slightly. "Yeah, why? Do you want me to ask him something for you?"

"Kind of, yeah," she said before looking at the door and making sure she had closed it all the way. "Everything we say is still confidential, right?"

"Of course."

"I have a friend. And...she was...sexually assaulted."

Jon's face immediately hardened, as he studied her. "Someone raped you?" he asked, a touch louder than she was comfortable with.

"Shhhh," she said, holding up a hand. "No, I wasn't raped. I really do mean a friend of mine."

He stared at her until he could be sure she was telling him the truth, and then his face softened. "Who is the friend?"

"I can't say. I'm sworn to secrecy."

"I mean, I can mention it to my therapist but I have to be careful. Not everything I tell them is 100% confidential."

"What about doctor, patient privilege, or whatever?"

"That goes out the window if a crime is ongoing, or could happen again," he said. 

"Oh, then never-mind. She would kill me if I betrayed her trust about this."

Jon found her eyes. "Margaery?"

Sansa sighed. "I can't say. Just leave it alone."

"Who assaulted her? Asher?" he asked, referencing the junior on the football team that Margaery had most recently dated. 

She shook her head. "Jon, I can't tell you."

"If its someone at our school I think I should know."

"It's not. It's no one our age. It's an adult. Someone she trusted. In the church."

They shared a look of mutual disdain for the church, and organized religion.

"My friend doesn't know what she should do about it. If she should do anything. She has to see him all the time."

"I'll see what my therapist has to say. Maybe I can even get him to see her. If she would be open to something like that."

"Thank you Jon."

"Don't mention it," he said before he threw a thoughtful gaze her way. "So aside from that terrible news, how have you been? You alright?"

"Sure, I'm fine," she smiled politely. "I was just about to ask you the same question."

"I'm fine," he echoed. Both seemed apprehensive about revealing anything deeper. 

She decided to offer more. She was no coward. "I've missed you."

"I haven't gone anywhere."

"Yeah, but we don't really talk much anymore. Not since..." she trailed off, refusing to bring up Halloween last year. So maybe she was a coward. "I just miss talking to you."

"You're the one busy with all of the friends, and clubs and activities and golf. You're never here."

He was right. When she wasn't busy with school stuff, she did spend most of her free time either with her friends or some kind of hobby or sport. Didn't really leave much time to sit around lazily and talk about stuff with Jon. That gave her an idea. 

"Do you want to get out the house with me?" she asked. 

"And do what?"

"Well, I have a few invitationals coming up. And I need a caddie."

"Don't they give you one?" he asked.

"Yeah, they'll assign one if you don't have one. But having your own, someone you're comfortable with is always preferable to a stranger. "

"What would I have to do, exactly?" 

"Carry my clubs. Give me signals. Keep track of my balls." She could see from the look on his face that she wasn't making it sound very fun. "I know you hate golf, but being a caddie isn't that bad. Especially in a tournament setting. You remember when I did it for dad a few summers ago? I thought I'd hate it when dad 'volunteered' me but I actually had a lot of fun."

"Yeah but don't you have to be knowledgeable about the different clubs and stuff to be a caddie? I don't wanna fuck you over by doing something wrong. I don't know any of that shit."

"I'll teach you everything you need to know," she said as if it was the easy and simple solution. "And I'll be patient. I promise."

She could see he just needed one more incentive to seal the deal. "You get to race me around on the golf carts."

He chuckled.  "Sure, why the hell not. Not like I got anything else going on."

*****

It took more patience than even Sansa realized she would need, but Jon eventually caught on. And for the next few weeks, whenever she went to the country club to practice for the invitationals, Jon was right there with her, tracking her balls, cleaning her balls, raking leaves, handling her clubs, holding the tee, and even offering her tips. Granted, she very rarely ever followed his advice. But at least he seemed invested enough in offering it anyway. 

But she hadn't suggested he become her caddie for any golf advice. She didn't really care that he was a novice learning on the fly. She cared that she got to get him out of the house to spend time with her. She cared that they had once again established a rapport with each other. 

It took about a week before they really got back into the swing of being open with each other. They stopped for lunch at a burger joint one evening, and ended up talking about dating. 

"You're still a virgin, right?" she asked while patting the bottom of a mostly empty ketchup bottle. 

"Yeah. You?" he asked before sipping from his chocolate milkshake. 

"Yeah, I am," she said as she managed to get a little ketchup out of the bottle and onto her tray of fries. 

"Robb doesn't think you are," he said before reaching for her fries and dipping a few into her ketchup.

"Why would he think that?" she asked while stealing a few onion rings from his tray. "You guys talk about my sex life?"

"No, not like that," he clarified. "It's just, you know, rumors that go around. And who you hang out with. You're still a freshman but you're very popular."

"Popular means what, I'm a slut?" she asked as she mashed the onion rings inside her burger. 

"It just means a lot of guys are into you."

"Not my fault. Rumors are rumors."

"There's also that video," Jon eyed her. 

"Fuck Cersei," was all she said while biting into the juicy double, bacon cheeseburger, now with onion rings. The release of that video had been nothing short of devastating. It was the first time she'd ever been called a slut. And the mediation that took place between her parents, the school principle, Cersei and her father was to that point, the second most embarrassing moment of her life. Having to try and convince her parents that she wasn't actually sucking cocks ranked first by a country mile.  "Do you believe what people say about me?"

"I believe whatever you say about you," he said. 

"Well I'm not a slut. I don't go around giving boys head. Or any of the other stuff they say."

"Good," Jon said as he chewed his food. "Robb doesn't wanna have to kill someone over you. But he's prepared to. Already told his closest friends not to even think about it. You are off limits."

"That's not fair. I never asked for this 'off limits' bullshit. If I want to date one of his friends, I'll do it. He's not the boss of me."

"I don't think he wants to boss you around. He's just worried about you. He knows how girls get treated in high school. He knows what guys are after. He wants to vet the guy you date, and he knows none of his friends are worthy."

"Well it sounds like he needs to get better friends then." He shrugged. "So what about you?" she asked, wiping her mouth with a napkin. "You gonna vet the guys I date?"

"Is that even what you want?" he asked. "Another overprotective brother, policing your behavior? I don't think you want me doing that. You want me to talk with you about your problems, not handle them for you."

"Sometimes I just want you to do what you want to do," she said. "It's not that complicated."

"Maybe from your vantage point, it isn't. But I don't have the right to play the big brother role. I've already failed that shit. I'd be a fraud to pretend otherwise. You know I have. You know in your bones what I am. You pity and humor me, but you know why I can't even pretend to be what Robb is to you."

"I don't need two Robb's, Jon. I never have. I've always been open to love and embrace you as you are. I wouldn't change anything that has happened between us."

"I would."

"I wouldn't," she emphasized, louder than his spoken regret. "You know you saved my life? Not Robb. Not my mom and dad. Not my trophies and awards. Not any of the things you think are better for me. You came into my life and saved me from myself."

"Bullshit. You still cut. You still hurt yourself. I didn't save you. I enabled and encouraged you. I gave you my anti-depressants like that was better than you being evaluated for yourself. I gave you second hand advice from my therapist as if that was better than you talking to someone yourself. I didn't help you, Sansa. I didn't save you. I took advantage of you. I corrupted you. I hurt you. And that's why you continue to hurt yourself."

"That's not true," she said, ignoring the food in front of her, as she had completely lost her appetite. "You're just saying that to punish yourself for...for what you think and feel. You're too close to the trees to see the forest. You don't see how you've only helped me."

"Sansa, my own therapist thinks I have hurt you," he said. "He thinks I have endangered you by denying you the professional help you need. What can be more objective than that?"

 

*****

There were so many types of condoms, she wouldn't even know where to begin. Blue ones, and pink ones, and black and gold ones. Ultra thin, ultra ribbed, extra lubricated, flavored, non-latex, XL, snugger fit. The list went on and on. Why were there so many ways to cover a penis?

She reached for the ultra ribbed box to read the package, but became startled whenever a woman old enough to be her mother turned into the aisle with a young child. She felt guilty, as if she had been caught doing something bad.

She quickly put the condoms back and hurried to the next aisle to get what she actually came to the department store for.

A box of razors. 

 

*****

The Stark siblings decided to have a movie night on Friday out in the living room. Big bowls of popcorn, four boxes of pizza, brownies, and five siblings out in the living room. The sixth sibling, Robb had declined the family bonding, instead choosing to hang out with his friends.

The excitement of sugar, butter, and action movies worked its effects on the youngest siblings first, as Rickon fell asleep about halfway into the second movie they picked out. Bran made it into the opening credits of the third movie, before Sansa looked over and saw him asleep in his wheelchair.

"Let's watch something scary," Arya suggested after they finished the third movie. It was after midnight, and with all of the lights off, and the youngest kids safe in dreamland, the atmosphere seemed appropriate for some R-rated horrors. 

Sansa gently moved Rickon's head off her lap and placed him on a pillow, hoping not to wake him, while Arya searched through the horror genre on the streaming device. 

"What about Halloween? The newest one?" Arya asked.

"Saw it already," Jon said. 

Arya continued searching. "It Comes at Night?" 

"Nah I heard that was stupid," Sansa said as she lifted herself from the floor. "I'm cold, does anyone want something while I'm up?"

"I'll take another slice of pizza, please. Pepperonni and sausage," Arya said.

"Anything for you, Jon?"

"I'm fine thanks."

"How about Unfriended 2?" Arya asked as Sansa made her way to the kitchen. She felt the insides of her legs burning. It was a familiar pain, almost nostalgic. 

She grabbed a slice of pizza and began eating it, temporarily forgetting that the slice was supposed to be for Arya. She tossed the half-eaten slice in the trash, then dumped two slices of pizza on a paper plate before flicking off the light and heading for the closet to retrieve a blanket. 

"What's this?" Sansa asked as she passed the plate of pizza to her sister. 

"Hereditary," Arya said.

"This good?" she asked as she dragged her the blanket to the sofa where Jon was laid out, with his hands behind his head. 

"It's supposed to be," Jon said as she approached him.

"Mind if I join you?" she asked while looking down at him. He was wearing a tank top and pajama pants, with no socks. She had on a halter top and shorts, with long black socks. No bra, no panties. She knew her nipples poked out prominently, but she couldn't tell if he had noticed.

"I guess I can make room for one more," he said, scratching at his chin hair before scooting over.  His mane of black hair needed to be trimmed. But she liked it scrubby and wild. It fit him. 

She sat next to him, wrapped in the blanket. A few minutes later, he pulled some of the cover from her body to cover his feet and legs. She made it easier by deciding to move closer to him. And then she moved close enough to lay her body on his chest. 

They sat completely still, looking straight ahead at the screen, while horrific events played out in front of their eyes. She could feel her brothers heart beat. It was fast, and hard, and loud. She wasn't sure if it was from the movie, or her presence. 

They were hidden in darkness. Hidden underneath a blanket. It felt safe to find his hand, so she did. She touched his fingers. He held his breath. Arya burped.

Sansa tried to watch what was on the screen. But her mind was elsewhere. Her hand was intertwined with Jon's hand. And she wanted him to feel where it hurt. She brought their hands closer. To her breast, then her stomach, then even further. Her thoughts spun. 

He stiffened himself. A completely silent protest. A desperate plea. A last resistance. But her will outweighed his reluctance. And she brought his hand inside of her shorts. She let him feel between her legs. His touch was warm, and exciting, and scary. So much scarier than the images and sounds coming from the television. 

She made him feel her torn skin, her soft, fleshy ruin. The physical state of her inner screams. The self harm she hid from the world. Tender and swollen. Freshly made. A dirty, ugly secret, sharing space between her legs with her wet, virgin pussy.

With Jon's hands inside of her pants, she no longer needed to guide him. He stroked her cuts, back and forth, in circles, tracing his fingers over and around the slits.

Her eyes had remained glued in front of her, but her concentration was focused inside of her pants, where Jon's hand had complete dominion. And when his finger finally found the slit she most wanted touched, she thrust her body just enough to meet his touch.

She didn't make a noise when his finger slid through her pussy lips.  It took everything in her to not make a noise, but closing her eyes and bracing for it had helped keep her voice drowned in her throat. When his finger pushed into her, she managed a tempered, muted gasp. 

When a second finger joined the first inside her warmth, she directed all of her mental and physical energy towards not making a sound. 

Perhaps that had been a mistake, directing all of her focus towards what Jon was doing inside her pants, because she was not at all prepared to feel the sharp pain that suddenly pierced the flesh of her neck. That sensation was just too unpredictable for her body to handle. 

She made a noise. A loud noise. A pained, feminine noise. Not a gasp, not quite a moan. The kind of sound a woman would make in a movie when she was stabbed through the heart with a knife. She was sure Arya would have heard it, but relief filled her as she looked down and saw Arya still laying on her belly, hand on her chin.

She probably should have done something to stop what was happening to her, but she was lost in the sensation that overwhelmed her body. Jon's free hand had creeped inside her shirt, and now he was caressing her nipple. The rush of excitement and fear was ccaptivating. And as she lay paralyzed,  Jon devoured her neck, pinched her nipple, and fingered her pussy, all while she felt his cock grew stiff in his pants. 

_Keep going. Keep going. Oh Jon yes, keep goooiiiinnng._

She grabbed his cock through his pants. It was so hard, so big. It answered any questions she might have had about what this was doing for him.  But in that moment, she couldn't truly concern herself with his desire. She was on the verge of exploding. 

It was so close. She could feel it building.  The heat. The sweet, heavy, sexual heat. She opened her mouth and rocked to his touch and anticipated it hitting her like a tidal wave. 

But it was interrupted.

Goddammit, it was interrupted. 

Her sweet, sweet release, escaped, lost in the night. So close, but just like that, so fucking far away. Gone, stolen, thrown in the sea of missed opportunities. 

Jon snatched his hand and teeth away from her body and Sansa shot up straight and away from her brother in a panic, mere moments before Robb jumped on the sofa between them. 

"Save any pizza for me?" he grinned at his two siblings. 

When Robb suddenly got a suspicious look on his face, Sansa jumped up. "I'll get you some," she offered as if she was his personal servant.

She all but ran to the kitchen, hoping against all odds, praying to the gods that her wet and aroused pussy hadn't left a scent in the air.

*****

The clock read 3:36 a.m. 

She was restless. 

She slipped out of bed and made her way to Jon's room. She knocked softly before easing the door open. He wasn't there. She checked downstairs and didn't find him there either. 

She grabbed her phone and clicked into her text messages.

"Where are you?" she text.

When she got no response after a minute, she text him again. "Jon...."

And then, "If you don't respond, I will wake up dad."

Within seconds, the screen indicated that he was typing a message back.

It read, "On the swings."

She made her way outside in the backyard, wearing her nightgown. She had taken a long cold shower to regain her composure and wipe the smell of arousal off her body. Jon was wearing his same clothes. And he looked disheveled, as he sat on one of the swings. 

Their father and uncle Benjen had built this swing-set years ago, around the time Rickon was born. The novelty of the swings being used as fun play things for the kids had worn off. They were mostly used now to relax under the shade of the big tree. And on a dark, tepid night like this, it probably offered the best spot in or out of the house to sit and contemplate big and deep thoughts. 

She sat down on the seat of the swing next to his. 

"Can't sleep?" she asked him. 

He gave her a look but no response. 

She sighed. "I can't sleep either."

He looked away from her. "Movie too scary for you?" 

She wasn't going to ignore the elephant outside. She was no coward. "No. I'm horny."

She chewed on her lip while waiting for him to look at her, or say something. But he did neither. "You have a really big cock," she said, focusing on him to see if he would react. "I felt it tonight. But I've known about it for a long time. I always check you out when I see you walking around in shorts."

He looked at her as if he was really annoyed before turning his head. 

"Jon I'm tired of this back and forth, hot and cold, on and off. Getting a taste of what we both want but then having to pretend like we don't want it."

"You have no idea what I want," he finally said. 

"Oh please, I think I have _some_ idea," she insisted before moving her auburn hair to the side and showing him the bright red bite marks on her neck. "You see this? You _liked_ doing this to me. Fuck that, you fucking loved it. You _need_ it. It makes you feel things you desperately want to feel. And I know you want more. I just don't know if you want more in general, or more, _with me_. "

"You're so fucking annoying, and nosy, and spoiled. You don't get to armchair psycho-analyze me and break me down to a bite sized treat to make it easy to digest who I am. I'm not letting it happen. Fuck that." His words seemed out of left field to her, and somewhat incoherent but it was clear from the raised tone of his voice that he was passionate about whatever it was he felt,

"What are you talking about, Jon?" she asked, keeping her voice low, and nonthreatening. 

"You just keep pushing and pushing and pushing, expecting to get your way just because you want something. You've never been told no. And that fucking pisses me off. Cause I want to tell you no. Leave me alone. Stop trying to get inside. But you just keep pounding, and pounding, and pounding. _Whats wrong, how can I help, let me fix that._ Over and over and over. And then you think you can get in the muck with me? Join me at my level? See into my soul? No. hell no. You don't get to indulge in this filthy shit like I do. You don't get to join me in the darkness."

It still wasn't clear to her what exactly Jon was so angry about. But she thought she could piece it together by connecting his words. "So that's what you want? To deny me of any pleasure that revolves around you? Even if it means denying yourself of the same pleasure?"

"Stop trying to make sense of what I want, Sansa. You could never understand what it's like to think like me. You could never understand the layers of my wants and desires."

"If I don't understand it's because you're not being clear enough," she said. "And do you think you can easily understand my desires? Like I'm so easy to figure out?"

"I think I can boil you down to a base desire, yes," he said. "I think you want to solve me. Crack the case. Like i'm some rubik's cube for you to figure out. And once you've solved the riddle, then you'll be satisfied."

"Fuck you. That's _not_ what I want. Goddammit, Jon. That's what you think? That's how you feel?  _Fuck you_. "

"Fuck it. You wanna read minds? You want to know what goes on in the bowels of my mind? You want to know what I don't even tell my therapist? What I'm forced to bury every time I'm around you? "

"I'm not afraid of your mind."

"You should be."

"But I'm not. I've never been afraid. So inform me of what you think is so bad, so evil that I wouldn't understand?  Is it that you _wanna fuck me_? You think I don't know that? That I haven't known that? Well news flash, Jon. _I know._   And if its not goddamn obvious by now, I _want to fuck you too_."

*****

"So this is the part where you stop liking Jon, if you ever even liked him to begin with," Sansa said to Dr. Baelish. "I mean he did hit his dog and almost drowned a little girl. But I framed him as a victim of his surrounding. An underdog that just needed a loving home in order to become a rehabilitated upstanding young man. But I think what I'm going to tell you will put everything I told you before in a darker, disturbing context. And I guess I'm going to see if you really can empathize with anyone."

He studied her for a moment before speaking.  "I've been listening closely to your story, Sansa. And I've noticed that you've skated around what happened between you on that Halloween. When you were 13, and he was 14. What did he do to you?"

"It's not what he did, Dr. Baelish. It's what he didn't do. What he wanted to do, and why he didn't do it. That is what's disturbing. That is what will make you hate him. That is the darkness."

 


	2. Chapter 2

After telling her parents she was forever done with trick-or-treating with babies, she locked herself in her room and bounced her attention between her closet, phone, and mirror. She put on makeup, and tried on different tops and dresses and skirts, and stuffed her bra, and took hundreds of photos. Only after she'd made her acne disappear and found the most flattering mix of filters and poses that she submitted the photos to her social media, officially alerting her followers to the new Sansa Stark. Not bookish, dress up as Rey from Star Wars Sansa. But a more mature Sansa.   
  
She spent the rest of Halloween night scrolling through comments, emojis, and likes. She fell asleep at some point, still wearing her makeup, heels, a mini-skirt that showed off her long legs, and a halter top that showed off her belly and cleavage. She was jarred awake after midnight, after hearing commotion outside her bedroom window. When she peaked out, she saw that it was Jon and Robb, returning from their night out with their high school buddies.   
  
But as she looked closer, she saw that Robb was helping to carry Jon. She left her room and hid in the darkness of the hallway, watching as Robb and Theon helped drag Jon up to his room. Jon was moaning as if he was in a ton of pain.   
  
She startled Robb and Theon as they quietly exited his room and found her standing in the hallway.   
  
"Ah shit, you scared the hell outta me," Robb said.   
  
"What's wrong with Jon?" she asked.   
  
"Nothing - mind your own business."  
  
"Tell me what's wrong with him," she insisted, louder this time.   
  
"Shhhhh," her brother hissed.   
  
"He's trashed, drunk too much at the party," Theon said in a hushed tone, if only to appease her.  "He'll be fine in the morning."  
  
"Yeah if someone doesn't wake mom and dad up because she's nosy and gets us all busted," Robb said as he looked at his sister. In her heels, she was eye level with him. "And why are you dressed like that?"  
  
She rolled her eyes and marched to her bedroom. She could feel Theon watching her as she moved past him. She heard when Robb hit his friend for looking too hard.   
  
Back in her room, Sansa kicked off her shoes and searched "how to help someone that drank too much." She went downstairs to the kitchen, grabbed a bottle of water, a bucket, and wet a rag with hot water.   
  
Jon was face first on his bed when she opened his door. He still had on his clothes, shoes too, as if Robb and Theon had just dumped him on his bed. She set the bucket down, rolled him over, removed his shoes, and helped him out of his jacket before holding a wet rag to his face and telling him to drink some water. He looked out of it, barely recognizing who she was, but he took a few gulps of water before passing out.  
  
She watched him as he slept. He looked younger, like this. Almost like a little kid, instead of the high school kid that had grown a beard in six months. Strangely, she liked him like this. Vulnerable, needy. She liked helping to nurse him. And over the next hour, she wiped his sweaty forehead, made him drink more fluids, and watched over him as he rest.  
  
As he snored softly, she noticed that his clothes reeked of vomit and booze. She didn't want her parents finding out about his wild night of drinking. He'd be grounded for sure. "Lets get these dirty clothes off you before someone finds out you were trashed," she whispered to her unconscious patient. She started with his shirt, slowly folding it over his belly, and then lifting it to his neck. She gently angled his arms out of the garment and then brought it over his head, managing to keep him from waking up.   
  
Next were his jeans. She took a deep breath before she slowly brought her hands to his crotch. She fumbled with the button for several clumsy seconds before she popped it open. She exhaled, checking his face, making sure his eyes hadn't opened. His breathing remained steady and light. She made the move to his zipper, easing it down. The sound of his zipper coming undone was loud and terrifying. And it seemed to last forever.   
  
"I'm taking your pants off, okay?" she whispered before slowly reaching for his waist and carefully sliding the jeans off his hips, and down his legs. She felt a relief when she got them off and dropped them into his dirty clothes basket. But that temporary lightness in her chest vanished, replaced by heavy, heavy anxiety when she looked at Jon and saw his penis, hanging halfway out the slit of his boxers.   
  
_Oh my god. A penis. His penis. I'm looking at Jon's penis. Stop looking at it, Sansa. Stop it right now._  
  
But she continued to look at it, a real life penis; soft, and tan, and right there in front of her. She'd seen penises in illustrations and dicks on pornhub, but Jon's penis wasn't erect. It was...what was the word her textbook described? Oh yeah, flaccid.   
  
But even in the non-aroused stage, where the blood hadn't filled it up, it looked fascinating. The head especially memorized her, as did his pee hole.   
  
But she felt guilty for looking at Jon's body while he lay passed out and unaware. This wasn't right. She wasn't supposed to see him like this.

So she reached for his boxers and wiggled the fabric in a way to force the penis back into the slit. And when she did it, and heard the bed creak, she knew she'd fucked up. She looked up and saw Jon looking at her, his eyes open and staring into her soul, as she came to terms with the massive mistake she'd made in trying to cover his manhood. 

And then, out of her eyes periphery, she saw his penis emerge once again, sliding out of the slit. But it had awakened from its slumber. Grown in girth, and length. From a soft penis into a big fat cock. Jon's big fat cock.

She panicked and hopped out of the bed. "Sorry," she said before reaching down for his dirty clothes. "I was just getting your stuff to wash for you. So no one finds out you were drinking."

She hurried out of his room with his basket of dirty socks, underwear, and clothes clutched to her chest, and ran downstairs to the laundry room, not bothering to cut on any lights. She threw the clothes in the washer with a cup of deterrent soap, set the cycle, and turned the machine on.

She tried to gather her composure, taking a deep breath, trying to rationalize to herself that Jon wouldn't even remember this in the morning. But as she stood in the dark, her heart beating like a drum against her chest, she heard a noise. She turned in the direction of the sound, suppressed the urge to ask "who is there?", and took a step into the kitchen.

She saw a dark figure standing in the hall. It didn't move. It didn't speak. It just stared at her. And she stated at it, trembling.

_Jon.  
_

When Jon began walking towards her, a swirl of thoughts and emotions shot through her. When he grabbed her top and ripped it off her body, popping her tits out, she wanted to scream "Gods what are you doing?" But she somehow held it in, even as she found herself on her back, on the kitchen floor, with Jon on top of her, spreading her legs wide. 

 She stared up at him, struggling to breathe, struggling to comprehend what was happening. He had the most wild, lustful look on his face. His eyes burned black. His teeth were bared, like an animal about to eat its prey. The intensity of his stare made her feel so many conflicting emotions, all at once, that she felt overwhelmed. But still, she did not scream. 

Instead, with her thoughts jumbled, and her of sense up and down, right and wrong out of whack, she hiked up her mini-skirt, and whispered "I'm on my period." Then she kissed his hard lips. 

The sudden change to his face was unmistakable. She didn't know what it meant. Or why he didn't kiss her back.  She just knew that the look meant something deeply troubling to him. He breathed out harshly, whispered "fucking bitch" angrily, pinned her harder to the floor, and without warning buried his face, his mouth, his teeth into the flesh of her naked arm. He bit her. Hard. Deep. And then he did it again, this time at her shoulder blade, before he moved further upward and settled on her neck. 

And then he feasted on her. Bit and sucked and chewed on her flesh, as if her skin were sustenance, as if he was a starving vampire that needed her blood to sustain his life force. She could feel his hardness against her mound, as his crotch slammed against her pelvis, and every time he rocked against her, she felt a wave of hot excitement shoot through her body.

She heard his frantic breathing, the dirty, animalistic sounds of his teeth and lips snacking on her saliva soaked skin. She heard the water filling the washer machine, and she heard her own cries of pain and pleasure, as this monstrous version of Jon ravished this middle school girl on her father and mothers kitchen floor. 

She felt helpless, and defenseless, and dominated. Like prey.

But she also felt alive. 

The pain of his sharp teeth tearing into her rose and rose and rose, until it met and somehow mixed together with the warm pleasure she felt from the center of her body. And then, there was something she'd never felt before, and could only be described as euphoric. And then all of the competing pleasures and pains and emotions and feelings and thoughts just collapsed in on itself, as she started to shake and convulse violently, as a feeling like no other pulsed through her body. 

It lasted too long for her to take, so she finally screamed, but also, ironically enough, whatever happened to her hadn't lasted long enough. She wanted more. Even in her exhaustion and confusion, she craved for more of this terrifying mix of pain and pleasure to find her. But Jon wasn't biting her or letting his hardness bump up against her drenched panties anymore. He was sitting upright on his knees, making a smacking noise, while she lay on the floor. 

She tried to gather up the energy to focus on exactly what was happening now, but it was dark, and something like this was completely foreign to her, and it was all happening too fast to make sense of. So when she felt something warm and creamy land on her belly, and then more of it on her tits, and then chin, it took until she heard his moans for her to realize what he'd just done. And when the reality hit her, right as more of the fluid hit her, she gasped from the weight of it.  Heavy, and hot, just raining down on her in spurts. 

"Fuck," she heard Jon screaming silently to himself. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."

She instinctively brought her finger to her chin, touching the creamy, gushy stuff, feeling how sticky and warm it was.

Cum, she thought as she regarded the texture of it, almost academically.  _This is cum._  

Or, according to her textbook, sperm, semen.

Jon's sperm.

Jon's semen.

_Jon's cum._

She wanted to say something as she tried to catch her breath, but she didn't know what to say. She just lay there, her tits out, her neck tender, her mini-skirt bunched up around her hips, her legs spread wide, her pussy wet,  various parts of her skin covered in lots and lots of cum.

And somehow, she wanted  _more_.

But Jon left without giving her any more.

He left her there like a used whore. And she brought her finger to her mouth to taste what he left on her. The flavor was new, and naughty. Slightly bitter, but also a tad salty. It didn't taste great, but the fact that it was his cum still made her so horny, that she used her other hand to touch her pussy as she tasted more of his release of pent up desire. 

In the aftermath of the attack, Sansa lay half naked in the darkness, bleeding, touching herself, tasting cum.  

Jon, apparently, went to his room to vomit.

*****

"You still haven't convinced me of your thesis," Dr. Baelish said. "I've known since your confession at our first meeting that you and Jon were involved sexually for a long period of time. You made that up front and clear. I knew it had to begin somewhere. Why not as precocious, sexually frustrated teenagers? Why is this supposed to make me hate him?"

"Think about what I told you, doctor. Truly, think about the sequence of events, as I described them. What do you think Jon wanted to do when he found me in the darkness? What didn't he do that he wanted to do?"

Dr. Baelish was a celebrated and highly recommended psychiatrist, with a background in neuroscience as well as philosophy. He'd written books that were taught in schools, published papers about the rehabilitation of violent criminals, and traveled around giving lectures and doing interviews. 

That was how she found him.

From a podcast where he talked about the crippling phenomenon in young women known as Imposter Syndrome. She'd been listening to the podcast on her commute to King's Landing when she broke down crying, and eventually had to pull over on the side of the road to recoup, because everything he touched on described exactly how she felt. 

But if he couldn't figure out what she was trying to tell him, then perhaps he wasn't as brilliant or in tune with the mind of people as he thought he was. He took his time before he finally could respond to her question. But when he leaned forward and began to nod his head, she knew that he understood what was going on now.

"He wanted to rape you," he said calmly, but with a terrifying confidence. "He wanted to throw you down and take you against your will. He wanted to end this redemption experiment of trying to be a healthy person and give in to what he believed to be his true, sadistic nature. He wanted to again become the boy that held an innocents girls face in the water while she fought for life. He wanted to be the psycho that you told him he couldn't be. But after he threw you on the floor, and you kissed his lips, he saw that he couldn't have that. You weren't the perfect victim he wanted."

"If he couldn't rape me, he wasn't going to fuck me," she said quietly. "And that's the darkness."

*****

"And if its not goddamn obvious by now, I want to fuck you too."

Those should have been the worst words spoken that night. But there are things that are worse than incest. There are confessions that are far worse. And those worse things, those worse confessions were exposed like cast out demons, as Jon gave his sister a peak into his mind, his desires, and the darkness that harbored such evil. 

"Why do you think I stopped myself?" he asked. 

"Because...I told you I was on my period," she offered. It was what she thought was the reason. 

"You really think that would have stopped me?" 

"I thought maybe the blood reminded you, that, well, we share the same blood. And, we didn't have a condom."

"I didn't give a fuck about that," he all but snarled.

She swallowed hard. "So why did you stop?"

He told her why. And she felt the ground shift beneath her feet.

There were times, he revealed, that he would see her walking around the house not wearing a bra, with her nipples poking out, or wearing shorts that showcased her ridiculously long and sculpted legs, and he would think, who does she think she is, dressed like this at her age? And he'd want to throw her over his knee and spank her ass with his bare hand.

There were other times where he saw her at school, with her slutty friends, wearing their slutty clothes, and it enraged him. His rage made him want to rip off her clothes, made him want to impale his cock inside her.

There were more times, he revealed, where after she won another trophy, or received another A+, while he struggled with his studies, struggled to be good at anything, and he wanted to humble her, bend her over and shove his cock up her ass, putting her in her place, making sure she knew what her holes were good for. 

There were times he hated her for being so pretty, so popular, so smart, so kind, so talented, so loved, so perfect - only for her to ruin herself with razors. There were times he actively resented her for not being appreciative of her privilege, for not being happy with her perfect little life. 

There were times he hated that she had a dark side. And that her darkness had room for him to join her.  Only people like him deserved the depression, the guilt, the shame, the burden of feeling unworthy and alone. Only people like him deserved to be perverts that satisfied their mental and emotional baggage with unhealthy cravings. 

Sansa listened. She truly did her best to listen, to understand and not judge. She tried not to be emotional, or become offended and afraid. But she wasn't a professional listener. She had no training on how to digest disturbing confessions without becoming disturbed. And maybe she should have been disturbed. She had a little sister. Little brothers, too. Could she trust his rage didn't extend to them? Was she putting them in danger by only thinking she filled him with such perverted thoughts?

How could she feel comfortable going to bed that night knowing that just down the hall, there was a boy that wanted to hurt her? That while she ate a bowl of cereal the next morning, the boy at the other end of the table drinking OJ was having rape fantasies about her? But they weren't merely fantasies, either. He had actually ripped her clothes, and threw her down, and nearly made his fantasy a reality. His thought crimes, were now actual crimes. 

"I didn't care that you were on your period. I didn't care about being caught. I didn't even care about living anymore. All I wanted was to give in completely," he told her. The only reason I didn't fuck you was because I saw that you wanted to be fucked. And I couldn't let you be satisfied by my attempt to throw my life away."

"But you satisfied me anyway," she said, reflecting deeply on how much that night affected her emotionally and sexually. "You gave me my first orgasm. Even in your attempt to hurt me, you satisfied me."

"Because you're stubborn," he said. "And you're young and don't know any better. You don't get the depths of my perversion, so it doesn't bother you the way it should."

"Or maybe I understand more than you think I do, but I just refuse to let you make a victim out of me," she said.

"You are a victim."

"A victim of what?"

"Stockholm syndrome," he answered. "You defend and make excuses for me. You downplay my actions and try to rationalize them into something good. It's irrational."

"I've been trying to get you to notice me for years, well before you ever laid a finger on me. I defend your actions because they are actions I've egged on. You think I only showed you the cuts between my thighs as a cry for help? You really think that was pure innocence? That I didn't get a sexual thrill when I had you touch me there? You think I just noticed your big cock tonight? You think all the times we went swimming and I bumped against you, it was all just a coincidence? I'm not some angel, Jon. I have my demons too. If anything, I'm the instigator of everything that's happened. I pulled the strings."

"Don't you get what this is about, Sansa? This isn't about finding common ground, or shifting the blame to you, and absolving me of what I've done. You can't fix this with your tame fantasies and run-of-the-mill sexual fantasies. You can't rehabilitate me. I'm beyond being rescued. I can't be salvaged. My mother's a whore and the man that raised me is a monster. I'm predisposed to this shit.  Hurt people, hurt people. And that is all I'd ever do to you. It's all I've ever done."

"I don't accept that, Jon," she said. "You've been there for me. You've listened to me and my petty problems with so much patience and kindness. You've lifted my spirits and made me feel better about myself as a person. We've shared way too many genuine moments. Moments I know weren't fake. I can't square that with you seemingly hating me 24/7."

 "Fuck, it's not that I hate you," he sighed in frustration. "I'm in awe of you 24/7. Your strength. your intelligence, and accomplishments. It all makes me feel in awe of you. But it also makes me feel so incredibly small. And I hate myself for it."

She looked at her brother as he stared off into the distance. "Have you ever shared these thoughts with your therapist?"

"I would be in some group home if I mentioned this to my therapist. Doctor, client privilege doesn't cover me expressing an interest in harming my underage sister because she's so perfect."

"This is why you can't get better," she said softly. "You see a therapist, but you don't confide in him the deepest, darkest feelings you have. So how can you be fully treated? How can you get better? You need someone to help you through what you feel."

"Here we go again," he shook his head. "So you think that's you? Is that it? A 14-year-old girl that proclaims she wants to fuck  her brother is going to help said brother with his anger, violent tendencies, and perversion towards her?"

"Yes."

"No," he said, standing up. "You're used to winning at everything but this is one battle you can't win, Sansa. That's not how any of this works."

*****

_Dear Jon,_

_You're not as wise as you think you are. You think you have it all figured out. But you don't. But I'm not going to hold that against you. You're young and don't know any better :)_

_There is no road map that shows where we go from here. You think your confession leads to a dead end, but I don't think our journey is over._

_You keep talking about your desires as if they are at odds with my desires. As if we're not compatible, or as if I can't help you, and you can't help me. But it's just not true._

_You want to dominate._

_I want to be dominated._

_You crave to hurt._

_I crave to be hurt._

_There are moments you desire power, control, and moments you want to humble me._

_And sometimes, I desire to feel powerless, to lose all sense of control, to become helpless and humbled and put in my place by someone stronger. By someone I trust. By someone it pleases me to please._

_Lets see, 1+1=2. Doesn't the math seem really simple here?_

_Okay I get it, you're not pulling straight A's in math lately, but I'll break it down even further._

_Jon = Dominant, aka domme_

_Sansa = Submissive, aka sub_

_Domme+ sub = mutually beneficial exchange of pain and pleasure and power exchanges._

_The variables don't matter to me. Spankings, choking, biting. They are just means to an end. And by whatever means necessary, I want the same thing you want._

_I thought long and hard about this. I'm ignoring Mrs. Mordane's math lesson right now as I write this to you. I see potential for an arrangement between us. Where you get your needs met, and I get my needs met. And the best thing about it is that it wouldn't have to be destructive or unhealthy either._

_Yes, I'm suggesting this could be therapeutic. Where we enter into an agreement, scratch some hard to satisfy itches, and come out of as better people. Healthy people. Not perverts, per se. Just sexually frustrated young adults that found a creative way to work through our issues._

_Sound interesting? Let me guess. You're skeptical. You think I'm too naive to understand your many complicated layers. Uh huh. Been there, heard that. Now how about you hear me. You know how alcoholics have a 12 step program to get their lives back on track? Well, I present to you my list of steps for us to take together. If we follow the steps, I believe we would be well on our way towards the rehabilitation and redemption you see as impossible._

_**1\. Admit we're powerless by ourselves**  - I'm straight up stealing this one. I'm powerless to my darkness. You're powerless to yours. The only way we rise above it is by helping each other._

_**2\. Complete honesty**  - No lies. None. Zero. Zilch. Nada. Not even little white ones if I ask does this make me look fat. We tell each other what we're thinking. No matter how dark, or how scary, or how depressing. If I ask you if you've ever had any of your dark feelings towards Arya, you have to tell me the truth. The only way this works is with full transparency. Where nothing we feel or think is off limits, where nothing we feel or think has to be buried forever. _

_**3\. No more cutting**  - This one is for me. But you are my accountability. As long as we're in this agreement, I will no longer cut my skin. I swear I won't. I want a better body image. I don't want to hurt myself in order to feel good about myself. I write this with fresh cuts so I don't take the words lightly. But I will honor the agreement if you agree to enter into it with me. You hear that? Now you have every incentive to agree to this. If you refuse, the blood from my skin would be on your hands. Now how is that for coercion? _

_**4\. No more bad grades** \- Well, Jon. This one is for you. How do I put this? Um, your grades suck. I'm not sure why you don't apply yourself, but I'm convinced you don't. There is no reason you should bring home so many C's and D's. You're incredibly smart. You've expanded my vocabulary and worldview. And you have access to tutors, and, well me. I'll tutor you in anything you need help with. You just have to be willing to ask me for help. I'm your accountability here. _

_Now we get to the hard stuff._

_**5\. Forgive yourself**  - I don't want to hear any excuses for why you can't. Just do it. I'm not sure how long it will take for you to do it. But we'll work on it as long as it takes. And when you're ready, you're going to write that letter to Ygritte. _

_**6\. Weekly 60 minute talks** \- Once a week, me and you will talk to each other for an hour. No ifs, ands, or buts. Every single week. A full 60 minutes. No distractions. Face to face talk. We can talk about anything. School, music, religion, how much you wanna rape me, etc. Whatever. But as per #2, we'll both be completely honest about whatever it is we end up discussing. This we we can cover each others blind spots. And possibly avoid disaster before it comes. _

_**7\. Exercise three times a week together for 60 minutes**  - In addition to talking with me, and cadding for me, you agree to exercise with me three times a week, for at least an hour. Jogging, swimming, hitting the gym, walking the dogs. Your physical activity level sucks. I think you'll feel better just by getting out more often. _

_**8\. Join an after school activity** \- Plenty of these to go around at school. They have chess club. Multi-cultural society. Poetry club. Film club. Atheist Club. I'm sure there is something out there for you. Try it out. _

_**9\. No Porn**  - I know what you're thinking. I've gone too far. But hear me out. You spend too much time in your room, playing video games, and fapping to porn. That can't be healthy, can it?  That's why so many of the things on this list involve getting out more. I'm not saying porn is bad. But for now, I think it would be good to cut it out as we try this exercise. You can still fap. I encourage you to fap. But use your imagination, or something. I'll do the same._

_But Sansa, you say. How will I get off if I don't have any good fap material?_

_**10\. We use each other to fulfill our sexual fantasies**  -  So here we are. At the nasty part. The part where I give my body to you for the betterment of our mental health. The part where you wrap your hands around my neck and squeeze the air from my lungs. The part where you force me down by my hair and submerge me in water while I flail around for breath. The part where you yank my panties down, lay me across your lap, and spank me with your bare hand  for being a bad, bad, naughty girl. Or your whip me with your belt, if you really want to punish me. The part where you rip off my clothes and throw me on the floor and, well...I'm not gonna  give you any more ideas. Lets leave some suspense, sheesh. _

_Moving on..._

_**11\. We agree to follow every step for the rest of the semester** \- Then and only then will the agreement end, and we can decide if we would like to renew the agreement, alter terms, or move on. _

_So there it is. My proposal. How does it sound? Crazy? Doable? Crazy doable?_

_I know it sounds like a lot, but that is kind of the point. You're going to be so busy with school, hobbies, (and moi) that you'll have no time to self destruct in your bedroom or wallow in the bad thoughts in your head._

_I know this is weird. But I think it could work. I really do. I see the darkness in you. The rage that burns. But it doesn't repulse or scare me. I want to be consumed by it._

_I'm willing to be your dumb bitch that needs to be disciplined. Your stupid slut that needs to be manhandled. Your pretty face and feminine body that you use to work through your rage and pain with pretty girls. I'm up for it. I'm wet for it._

_And I think this is a way to allow that to happen in a relatively healthy way. By both us being productive, healthy, transparent, and thoughtful about all of our pent up anxieties, fears, insecurities, failures, and frustrations._

_And if you're still on the fence, I have a bonus offer. Something to sweeten the pot and absolutely make sure you're moving in a positive direction._

_If you agree to this proposal, follow every step religiously, to the letter, and you manage to get Straight A's for the semester...I'll give you my ass._

_Nope, don't frown up your face or pretend like that doesn't interest you. I've seen your porn. I remember what you said on the swings. You want my dirty, tight, virgin asshole, you filthy boy. And guess what? I'll give it to you on a platter, or any other way you want it. Just ace your schedule and it's yours, Jonny boy._

_Get it, **A**  stands for  **ass**. My ass. _

_And no you can't cheat, and say **B** stands for  **butt**. B stands for close  **BUT** no butthole for you. _

_I could write more but I think this is the longest thing I've ever written by hand and my wrist hurts so I'll end it here, fold it up, and start agonizing over if I'm actually going to give you this or not._

_If I do, please put as much thought and energy into it as I have? Okay? And destroy it once you read it, will ya? I think it goes without saying that if anyone reads this, our lives are over. So lets not ruin our lives by being careless. K? Thanks._

_P.S. Meet me at the swings tonight at 2 a.m. and let me know what you want to do. This conversation started there, so it can end there._

_Sansa_

 

 *****

Jon was sitting with the weirdos and goths eating a pizza when she walked up to him and dropped the carefully folded note in her lap. 

"For your eyes only," she said to him before turning to walk to the table where all of the popular kids ate their lunch. 

*****

It was 2:07 a.m. when Jon finally decided to join her out on the swings. He'd avoided her all day, even deciding to take his dinner upstairs. So she truly had no idea what he thought about her letter. She'd prepared herself for a no. She thought she could handle it. But after swinging back and forth for a few minutes (that felt like hours), with no sign of him, she'd started feeling like it was going to devastate her when he didn't bother to show up. 

She'd spent all day anticipating his response. And because of the anxiety that came with waiting, she'd barely ate anything, and could hardly concentrate on her homework, or pay attention to her favorite tv show that came on at 9. She had to drank a few cup of coffee to settle herself around midnight, when there was still 2 hours to go. 

So when she saw Jon walking out of the sliding glass door into the backyard, barefoot, with a black tank top and black shorts, she felt her heart swell. At least he wouldn't totally stand her up. But now she had to actually face him and hear his response. And that brought its own anxiety. 

He sat down on the swing next to her and she placed her feet to the ground to stop her swing from swinging. She looked at him. He looked straight ahead. 

"Why the hell would you write something like that to me?" he asked. "In school of all places."

She felt her heart drop to her bowels. "I made sure no one saw."

"Yeah but still. I understand not wanting to text it but damn. That was dangerous."

"Everything about this is dangerous," she said as she looked over his face, trying but failing to read him. "So where is the letter now?"

"Destroyed. Like you said."

"Good. Could you read everything, okay? I know my cursive is basically chicken scratch."

"I read and understood everything just fine."

She clasped her hands together and exhaled. "And?"

He finally looked at her. "Do you really understand what you're proposing?"

"Yes, I do."

"No, are you truly willing to follow the letter of your proposal? That you truly want to be powerless, and lose all sense of control, and become helpless, and humbled, and put in your place by someone stronger? By someone you trust. By someone it pleases you to please."

Damn. How many times did he read that letter?

"Yes."

"Take off your clothes, then."

"Now?" This sudden request took her off guard. "Right here?"

"Don't question me. Do as I say."

There it was. That intensity again. That dominant, dark, aggression. His voice was so masculine, and hard, and cold. His eyes so focused on her. His demand, so raw and to the point, but still seemingly so complex and filled with mystery. Was he going to fuck her? Right here? Right now? In their backyard? On the swings? On the grass?

She wasn't prepared for that. But it didn't really matter. She'd asked for this. Nearly begged for it. And she wasn't about to back out because it was happening too fast. She wanted Jon to fuck her. If it happened within two minutes of meeting her out here, then so be it. 

She removed her t-shirt first. Then her pajama pants. She lay them softly on the grass, wondering if by clothes, he also meant her underwear. But she wasn't supposed to question him now. Just do as he said. And he said to take off her clothes, so unless he said otherwise, that meant he wanted her to get naked. 

She reached behind her back and unsnapped her bra. Right before she let it drop, she saw that he was glaring at her, watching every second of this on heightened alert. She decided against looking directly at him as she let her pink bra fall off her chest and into her hands. She dropped the bra on the grass, on top of her clothes. She was sitting topless in her backyard. It felt strange, but very exciting. By the time she reached for her panties, she realized she was super wet. 

She slid the final layer of modesty off her bottom with one motion, guided them down her legs to join her pile of nighties. She was naked now, her tits and pussy exposed to the humid air, but just to be safe and sure she had followed Jon 100%, she kicked off her slippers too. Now she was as naked as her nameday.

She turned to Jon, wanting to know if he was pleased, wanting direction. His eyes were glued to her face, which must have been completely flushed. She felt self conscious. Especially when she allowed her fingers to touch between her legs, where her cuts were. She hoped he liked what he saw. Her boobs weren't the biggest or perkiest. 32B. But they were pretty suckable, and she had cute nipples she thought. Nipples that were erect, just waiting to be sucked, she realized. 

Was he going to suck her nipples first? How did he want to fuck her? Did he want her to get on her knees now? Lay down? Would he keep his clothes on? Or join her in the nude? The questions seemed endless. 

"I want to add something to your 11 step program before I agree to it," he told her. His eyes still hadn't dropped from her face. He still hadn't ogled her naked body, which was both sweet and painful. 

"What's that?" she asked, feeling so naked and exposed that she had to cover her tits with her arms.

"No kissing on the lips and no sex," he said as he touched her bare shoulder with his fingers. His touch, so light, still felt heavy and erotic. But the words that accompanied his touch made it bittersweet. He pealed her arms away from her chest to free her tits again and cupped her left breast, all while his eyes stayed glued to her face. "No vaginal sex, at least. We can play with the fact that you're a virgin, but I don't want to actually take that from you."

When he touched her nipple, she gasped. His fingers explored her breast, as she tried to comprehend his amendment to her proposal. It felt like their wires had gotten crossed. "You don't wanna fuck me?"

"Of course I want to fuck you," he said, even as he removed his hand from her tits. He wasn't making any sense at all. And that frustrated the fuck out of her. "I just think this is how we keep this from raging out of control. Set some boundaries. Give us something to keep us grounded, something to deny ourselves. It'll probably make everything else I have planned for you a million times more intense...knowing we can't just release our tension by fucking. Plus, when this is all said and done at the end of the semester,  you can still have something pure and untainted by me. A sexual first you can share with a man that isn't your brother. Then I won't feel like a total piece of shit for everything else I'm going to do to you."

"And what are you going to do to me?" she asked, hoping he had something planned for her right now. She was beyond horny.  

"Well, I'm going to get straight A's," he said with a confidence she'd never seen him express about school. Seems as if her proposal had already made him better. "As far everything else. I guess you'll just have to wait and see. Gotta leave some suspense, right?"

She felt her toes curl against the grass. "So why am I naked?"

"Because I want you naked," he said as if it was that simple. "Plus I wanted to test you. See how submissive you would be. Why? You have a problem with sitting here naked with me?"

She bit her lip. "I'll stay naked as long as you tell me to."

"Is that so?" he asked.

She nodded. "If it pleases you."

She could tell he enjoyed her submissive answers. And that only made her wetter. 

"So, do we begin this now, or what?"

"Begin what?" she asked.

"Our 60 minute talk," he said. 

"Wasn't expecting it to start now, but alright," she said as she pulled her arms together and looked at him. She could see he didn't want her covering her nakedness in any way, so let her arms fall to her side and pointed her chest forward. Sitting there without covering herself had proven to be even harder than disrobing had been. "How about we start by following step 1 of my program."

"Step 1," he repeated. If he could quote so much of her letter word for word, she was sure he knew what the step called for, he was just being difficult. 

"Yup. Admit we're powerless," she said. 

He laughed silently to himself, looking at the grass before he found her eyes. "Sansa, I'm powerless to beat this without you. I need your accountability. I need your ear and conversation. I need your beautiful body. I need you."

She was taken back by the conviction of his words. But being needed made her feel really good. Hearing him say he needed her body, while his eyes looked over her naked body made her feel even more horny. "I need you, too Jon. I'm powerless without you."

 She wasn't as eloquent. But he didn't seem to mind. Good, because if she kept expressing her powerlessness and needs, she thought she was going to blurt out that she was powerless to her own arousal, and that she needed to be fucked right then and there.

He reached for her hand. She accepted his hand, and intertwined her fingers with his. And they both exhaled deeply, taking in the stars and moon, while she tried to lower the temperature of the inferno raging through her body. 

"So tell me about your day," he said.

And for the next forty three minutes, Jon and Sansa talked to each other honestly, openly, like long lost friends, like she wasn't completely naked in their fathers backyard. By the time they started talking about her upcoming tournament in two weeks, and how some of the best 17 and under golfers in the country would be there, she discovered something new about herself. She really enjoyed this dynamic, being naked while Jon was clothed. Furthermore, she liked casually talking to him while she was naked, without her nakedness being the topic of conversation. 

There was something compelling about being so vulnerable, so exposed, but not drawing any attention to it. Just going through the motions of a normal conversation, pretending like they both didn't care that she was naked, downplaying it as if it wasn't noteworthy or distracting. But then catching little hints, like glances, and blushes, and signs of arousal that let her know that her nude body was very noteworthy in his mind.

Oddly, being so naked, not covering herself, while engaged in fairly normal conversation also made her feel really confident. 

She also really enjoyed the powerless feeling of not having a choice in the matter. That he'd told her to take off her clothes and she wasn't allowed question why. She loved giving him that sense of control over her. She loved that it pleased him to have the power to control something as personal to her as her right to clothing, and her right to cover her nakedness. 

 Being outside seemed to heighten everything that she felt. But it intensified from a simmer to a boil, when they noticed a light suddenly cut on from inside the house. It was almost 3 in the morning. What if her mother or father had woken up to check on the kids and didn't see Jon or Sansa in their beds? Or what if they were coming downstairs to get a drink of water? What if it was Robb or Bran Arya or Rickon? Any of them walking by the glass door, taking a glance outside and seeing them out there would have been the end of their lives as they knew it. 

Sansa had felt adequately hidden in the darkness of the backyard as she and Jon talked. Now she felt as if the night sky existed only to shine a brightness of her naked white skin. Was the moon and stars always this bright? Or were the gods shining a spotlight on these two naughty teenagers?

She could have simply reached for the pile of clothes at her feet and slipped her clothes back on. The compulsion to do that very thing was strong. Almost overwhelming. 

She looked to Jon, wondering what he was thinking. Was he afraid? Did he want her to throw something on really quickly? At the very least her shirt and panties? 

But his face didn't reveal anything definitive. Just that he knew they were in a tricky spot and he wanted to see what his sister was going to do about it. Looking at this beautiful boy, she bit her lip and made a decision. 

 A risky, dangerous, foolish decision. But in that moment, it was the only thing that felt right.

She tightened the grip on his hand and risked everything to remain true to her words. 

Seconds passed. Her heart thumped. She imagined being caught by her siblings, each of them in turn. Then she imagined being caught by her mother and father. She would be grounded for the rest of her life and Jon would probably be sent away, if her mother didn't kill him first. 

But still, she held tight to Jon's hand, squeezed her legs together, and managed to keep her naked ass planted on the swing. 

When the bright light in the house finally died, after at least a minute of being on, Sansa felt like she finally breathed. She closed her eyes and tried to catch her breath before looking at Jon and whispering "My heart is beating so fast."

She brought their hands to her chest and held his open palm where the beat was the strongest. She tried not to react to how sexually arousing it felt having Jon inadvertently touch her breast and nipple. But when he finally pulled his hand away, she realized it wasn't just arousal sitting heavy in her gut. 

She squeezed her legs and began bouncing in her seat. It felt obscene, when she realized her boobs were jiggling with each bounce. So she stopped bouncing, although the uneasy feelings she had must have still shown on her face.

"Are you okay?" he asked

"My bladder is about to burst," she whispered. " I had like three cups of coffee earlier."

"So pee," he said as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Sure, it was natural, but not here, outside, in the backyard, while she was naked, while he was right there watching. But this was a night of going against the grain, wasn't it? Peeing right now couldn't have been more unnatural that admitting to wanting to fuck him, right?

And what other option did she have? She really had to go. She wasn't even sure she could make it in time to the nearest bathroom. 

So she slid out of her seat and took a squat in the cold grass, her ass just above the ground. Feeling her naked skin against the sharp blades of grass and her ankles and heels felt really strange and primal.

She looked up at Jon. His eyes were focused down on her as she held her balance in a squatting position. She couldn't read his face. It tempered her bladder, even as she felt the pressure starting to become painful. "I think I have stage fright."

"Do you want me to close my eyes?"

While it probably would have made it easier, the truth was she didn't. She wanted him to see her. She just had to let go. 

So she closed her eyes, gathered her resolve, and squeezed until the stream of piss flowed out. "Ahhh," she breathed quietly as she relieved her full bladder right in front of him. When she opened her eyes, and saw him staring, she suddenly was able to smell her own heat and scent. A humid flavor of urine and grass and pussy. The aroma made her feel dirty. Filthy. Gross and stinky. 

She'd yet to speak the word incest out loud to describe this incestuous thing she and Jon were engaging in, but the incest didn't exactly bother her that much. She knew it wasn't exactly right. She knew she had to hide it. But she could live with hiding it. Of all the things that constantly ate at her conscious, incest didn't rank very high. Perhaps that meant her moral barometer was broken. But in the moment, she didn't really care about that. 

But squatting like an animal and peeing in front of her brother like she was a dog made her feel the shame that perhaps she should have felt this entire time. THIS was dirty and wrong. And as she eyed him eying her, she couldn't help but think that Jon saw her as pitiful now, reducing herself to this. 

But those fears were calmed after the final droplets of pee faded, he reached for her hand again and helped her back on the swing. She was glad he decided not to comment on what she'd just done. Instead he pivoted back to the decision she made before that one. "We could have been caught a few minutes ago. When that light cut on, I thought for sure you were going to put your clothes on. I saw how scared you looked. But you stayed naked. Why?"

She found his eyes. "I told you I would stay naked as long as you told me to." 

He nodded. "That was hot as hell. I didn't want to get caught, but the risk of being caught. It was a rush."

"I know. I felt it too."

"You're bold, I'll give you that."

"It wasn't about me being bold. My life was in your hands. If you wanted to save me, you could have. That's the power you had. The power and control you still have, now that we're in this agreement."

"I guess so," he muttered before looking at her. "That's a lot of power you're giving me."

"And look how it worked out. You got to be empowered without resorting to violence. See, this therapy is working already," she said."Told ya you didn't know everything."

This earned her a rare toothy smile from him.

*****

Sansa made sure Jon saw her as she flirted with a couple of boys that stood at her locker. She pressed her hand against one of their shoulders and whipped her long auburn hair in the other guys face in a way that obviously indicated she was being a big flirt. 

Jon walked by his sister without glancing her way and turned the corner. She closed her locker and immediately ceased conversing with the boys. 

She knew what this did to her half-brother. And it made her wonder if she could expect a spanking for it when she got home.

That made her feel on edge the rest of the day. 

*****

Sansa had just stepped out of the shower when she noticed Jon standing in her bathroom with a towel in his hand. It was 5:15 in the morning. They still had nearly three hours before they had to be at school, but Sansa had to be up early to begin her beauty routine that consisted of hair, makeup, and accessorizing. It came with the territory of maintaining her reputation as one of the prettiest and popular girls in a school filled with pretty and popular girls.

Jon on the other hand, usually hit the snooze button half a dozen times before finally rolling out of bed with just enough time to wash his face and throw on some black clothes. But he was already fully dressed, with freshly ironed jeans, and for once, a shirt that wasn't black or grey. 

He motioned for her to come closer to him and she did. She was naked, dripping wet. He dabbed her with the towel. It was surprisingly warm, as if he had just removed it from the dryer. He carefully dried her neck, and shoulder, and breasts before turning her around and drying from her back, to her ass, and then down her legs. 

When she was dried, he brought her into the bedroom, where he had buttered toast, bacon, and eggs scrambled hard, just like she liked it, sitting on a plate along with a glass of OJ. 

"Eat."

She obeyed. Still naked, increasingly turned on at this unpredictable series of events. She ate her breakfast while he blow dried her hair. When she was done with the food, he took her dishes, placed them aside, and stood in front of her as she sat on the bed. "How was the food?"

"Delicious," she said. 

He took a step closer, placed his hands on the damp and soft skin of her legs, then spread them wide. Although she had no idea what Jon was doing, she relished the excitement she felt from his confident control and maneuvering of her body. But what was he up to? Did he want to touch her? Lick her? Go back on his word and fuck her? 

He seemingly read her mind, and answered her unasked question. "If I'm going to be your accountability and make sure you aren't cutting anymore, I need to know what you look like from head to toe." He produced his phone from his pocket while she lay on her bed, naked, and splayed before him. "Especially between your legs. And I need before and after photos, just in case I spot a fresh cut on your skin that you try to deny is new."

He snapped a photo of her. She felt herself blush. Then he snapped another. 

"How often do you shave your pussy?" he asked before he took another photo of everything she had to offer between her spread legs. 

She instinctively brought a finger to her mons, which was mostly bald, with just a tiny patch of hair. He snapped another photo. "Like, once a week."

"Until I can trust you around razors, you're going to shave in front of me from now on," he said as he took another photo. "That okay?"

She bit her bottom lip. "Whatever you want is okay."

"Get on your hands and knees then," he said.

Oh gods. This was happening really fast. But it was out of her control, and that was exactly what she wanted. 

She pushed aside her worries about being caught, and her insecurities about how her body may have looked in such a position and did as she was told, crawling into place on her bed. 

"No, turn the other way," he said as she kneeled, facing him. She ignored the rapid beat of her heart and re-positioned herself, facing the wall that contained her school certificates and awards.  She heard the snap from his phone. "Put your hands on your ass cheeks and spread them."

She placed her hands on her ass cheeks and spread them. He took more photos. She wondered if she might pass out from the heavy emotions making her feel light-heated. She pondered if it was possible to orgasm from the raw excitement of posing for naughty photos. She didn't want to find out. That would be so embarrassing. 

"You have a pretty little butthole. Pink and smooth in the creases of your cheeks. A little darker and rippled at the hole. And I like it when you wink it at me," he said, describing her anus as he saw it before he captured it with his camera. "And your labia is just perfect. Meaty but neat. Especially aroused and wet and slick like it is now. Gorgeous pussy." 

She had no idea how to respond to these comments about her most intimate parts, so she remained quiet, and held still even as she felt her entire body flushing red. But apparently, he took offense to her silence. "Where're your manners, Sansa Stark? I gave you a compliment."

She caught her wind while keeping her ass and pussy spread for him, hoping she wasn't making it wink at him. 

"Thank you," she managed to say, though her voice was weak and shaky. 

"For what?"

"Complimenting me."

"Complimenting you about what?"

She closed her eyes and held them tight. "My...pretty butthole and gorgeous pussy."

"Good girl," she heard him say after she'd held herself open for accountability purposes. "Now come here."

She came to him tremendously aroused, and stood in place as he closely examined her body. Not just the parts that made her blush, but the skin of her arms, and hips, and fingers, and toes. After he was done capturing every part of her body, from every side and angle, he gave her a pat on the ass. "Don't worry, I'm going to hide these photos in a password protected folder."

"I'm not worried," she told him. "I trust you."

He led her back to the bathroom, where he produced a pack of dental floss and told her to open her mouth wide. He carefully flossed between her teeth like she was a helpless little girl, and even the few times he accidentally brought the floss a little hard on her sensitive gums gave her a rush of tingles that she enjoyed.  Next he squeezed toothpaste on her toothbrush, wet the brush, and told her to smile. 

He was thorough, scrubbing her top, bottom, and side teeth as if he was a dentist, not missing a spot. Then he instructed her to gargle mouth wash.

"Now spit," he pointed in the sink after she'd gargled the minty mouth wash until it started to burn. 

Her mouth felt refreshed when it was all over and he led her to the toilet and told her to handle her business. Fortunately, he gave her privacy to move her bowels and pee.

It was about a minute after the toilet flushed when he came back in the bathroom. "Use light make up. Not that heavy, over the top shit. Pretty but natural," he told her before looking over her neck, and the red and pink bite marks he'd left on her. "Do something about that, too."

She went to work in the mirror, making herself look pretty but natural, and used the same powdering and foundation techniques she'd used the day before to hide his bite marks. By the time she finished getting herself pretty, she walked back into her bedroom and found that he had picked out her outfit for the day. 

High-waist beige jeggings, a ruffled white cami, with a loose green cardigan and preppy loafers. It wasn't quite her style, but that didn't really bother her. This is what he wanted her to wear, and that in itself gave her a rush of excitement. 

But before she was given permission to dress for school, she asked "do you like the way my body looks?"

She was still naked, and being naked while asking such a personal question made her feel self conscious. She moved her hair behind her ear, just waiting for his answer.

"Sansa, I'm already addicted to your body. Addicted like a fiend. Now hurry up and get dressed before I have to throw you on that bed and make myself a liar."

*****

"I got this one from roller blading," she told him as he looked closer at the barely noticeable scar on her armt. You had to know what you were looking for really see it. "And here is another freckle," she pointed towards her ribcage. 

He ran his finger over the scar, and the freckle. 

What had started as homework study had quickly turned into Jon counting each and every freckle and scar on her naked body, and kissing each.

The loud smack of his kiss against her ribcage made her tremble with excitement. 

Their addictions were growing.

*****

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

Each slap to her ass was harder than before. She felt her ass cheeks burning. A good burn. 

"Is that all you got, you fucking psycho!" she challenged. He'd spanked her good every day that week. But she was feeling like a very bad girl today. And instead of playing the "yes, daddy" good girl, she wanted to test him and see if she could bring out an even bigger monster. 

"Oh I'm a psycho?" he uttered before pushing her off his lap. As she rolled naked on the floor, he stood up from the chair, reached for his waist, and yanked the belt free from his pants. "If I'm a psycho, then you're a dirty little slut. Your dad never spanked you, but he fucking should have, you fucking whore."

The role playing only made her hornier. It was very weird, how the things they didn't like to be called, somehow turned into the things they craved to be called, under the right setting. 

He threw her on her back, on the bed, and lifted up her long legs. And before she could even figure out what exactly he was doing, she heard and then felt the sting of the belt slap against her raised ass. Without warning, there was another smack along with him saying "fucking bitch, fucking whore" and then another that landed right on the spot between her pussy and asshole. And this new pain made her cry out real tears. 

Sansa didn't think he heard her - or maybe he did hear her but in that moment he just didn't care - but he continued with the whipping until the tears flowed down her cheeks while she hyperventilated and screamed from each smack. And suddenly, with an abrupt gasp, he dropped the belt to the floor. 

"Sansa, I'm so sorry," he said. "Fuck, fuck, fuck. I'm sorry."

She wiped her eyes and sat up. "No, Jon. It's fine. I'm fine.  You didn't have to stop. I was enjoying it."

He shook his head. "You're crying."

"Because it hurt," she told him, wiping lots of tears from her eyes and sniffling. "But I like the hurt. I need to hurt that badly. If I couldn't take it, I would have told you."

He sat on the bed and dropped his face into his palms. "I can't do this. Not to you. I can't keep hurting you like this."

"Jon," she touched his back but he refused to turn her way.  "Listen to me. I'm fine. I want you to hurt me like this."

When he didn't respond, she slid on the floor, and crawled between his legs so he would look her in her eyes, which were now stained with tears and mascara. "Step 2. Complete honesty. I wouldn't lie to you. Yes It hurt to have you whip me like that, and it felt degrading to hear you call me names, so I cried. But I cried when I cut, too. And I cried when you bit me.  But all that means is I reached an emotional climax. I like the feelings I have when I'm in that much pain. I like how much relief I get. Please, don't think my tears mean you're doing something wrong."

As she lay on his lap, she felt his erection, poking against his pants. He seemed ashamed of it. She didn't want him to ever be ashamed of his lust for her. She unzipped his pants, freeing his hard cock. Sat on her knees, naked, her ass still burning from her whipping from the leather. 

"Tell me what you want," she told him as she sat between his legs. "I'll do it. Whatever you want. I'll do it, Jon."

He looked so reluctant, as if it pained him to express his desires. She knew she had to approach this differently. She exhaled, blowing her warm breath on his cock, which made it jump and nearly hit her in the face. With step 2 on her thoughts, and a cock near her face, she asked "Do you want me to touch it? With my hands?"

He closed his eyes when he said "Yes."

She touched his cock with her finger. He shivered from just the gentle touch. She grabbed it with her hand. It was so big and warm. And it was throbbing. "Do you want me to rub your cock?"

This time he answered quickly. "Yes." So she used her hand to rub the base of his cock, slowly, up and down, all while watching his eyes roll in the back of his head. "Go a little faster."  She held a smirk. Now he was telling her what he wanted. She found a little rhythm, stroking his cock a little faster, and faster, and faster. But it was quite a workout so she switched hands, and admired how majestic his circumcised penis looked as the skin was caressed, and relished the feeling of his cock skin in the palm of her hands. 

She got a thirst in her mouth. "Do you want me to kiss it?"

He let out a loud breath. "Uh huh."

"Uh huh, what?" she asked, slowing her stroke. 

"Yeah, kiss it."

She thought he would never ask. She moved closer to his erection, so incredibly aroused, but also incredibly anxious. And before she allowed herself to question what she was doing, she closed her eyes and kissed the head of his cock. It felt warm and smooth against her lips. She kissed it again, opened her eyes, and saw the desperation on his face.

She continued to peck his cock, moving away from the head and working her way down to his the base. She thought about trying to kiss his balls, but it would have involved having him completely remove his pants. And there was something sexy about her pleasuring his penis while she was naked, but he was still mostly dressed, with his cock poking out the hole of his pants.  

When she brought her tongue into her kisses, he made a masculine noise that kind of sounded like he was in pain, but she knew was actually pleasure. So she continued to make out with his cock, tongue kissing it until she felt his hand palm the back of her head. She could have made it easy and just slipped his eager cock all the way between her lips and into her mouth, but she wanted to hear him say it. 

"Do you want me to put it in my mouth?" she asked, innocently. 

He nodded frantically. But that wasn't good enough. "Jonny boy, what do you want?"

"I...I want it in your mouth."

"Want what in my mouth?" she teased the same way he'd teased her. Then she kissed it again. 

" _My cock_ ," he said in exasperation. "I want you to put  _my cock_  in  _your mouth_."

This was completely new to her, having a real cock in her mouth. But it wasn't as if she didn't know what to do with it. She'd had practice. 

Thanks to Cersei, everyone had seen her practice, too. She had the reputation of a cock sucker before she'd ever gotten on her knees and accepted a cock into her mouth. 

But she was ready now. Ready to accept a cock into her mouth. Ready to become a good little cock sucker. 

Jon moaned audibly when she did accept his throbbing erection, slowly, into her wet and warm mouth. The entire thing was incredibly erotic. Not just the cock in her mouth. But being at their families vacation house by the lake, which they'd took a 2-hour train to get to. The only place they knew they would have enough privacy to indulge this loudly and freely. They'd lied and said they would be at the golf course, when the truth was, she was naked on her knees with his cock in her mouth. 

It felt very naughty and painfully erotic. It got even more painful as Jon talked to her and rain his fingers through her hair. "Suck my cock. Faster. Yes, just like that." She sucked him passionately, concentrating very hard on what she was doing. He lifted the hair that was in front of her face and said, "Look at me while you suck me off."

She looked up at him while his cock was in her throat.

Only then did it really sink in.  _I'm his little cock sucker._

That thought made her suck him with even more devotion. 

He looked down on her with such power that she felt herself nearing an explosion. She had no idea it was possible to work herself into near ecstasy by merely pleasing a cock with her mouth. This had been for him, to awaken his desire, but somehow, she felt like this was doing even more to awaken hers.

The dull pain from the spanking, the ache in her body, the emotional exhaustion from crying, and the vulnerability and submission she felt as she sucked cock, and remembered all of the comments people had made about her on social media when Cersei posted that video of her with a dildo. Those thoughts and memories, combined with the way he was looking at her, biting his lip so hard it looked like they might pop, it was all just too much to take. 

"Look at you, with that big cock in your mouth," Jon said in a way that sounded like admiration. "You little cock hungry slut. You're about to cum from sucking my cock, aren't you?"

She closed her eyes to deny the truth of his observation as she tried to release some sexual energy with a moan, but the cock in her throat prevented the moan from flowing out freely. But she still felt something snap, as if a floodgate had broken and allowed in a rush of pleasure. She was so caught off guard by what she was experiencing that she thought something was wrong with her body whenever she started to convulse from the spasms of overwhelming emotion and sensation that gripped her from head to toe. 

She couldn't believe herself. She was having an orgasm. She was really having an orgasm, just from sucking cock. And as she rode that orgasmic wave, the vibration must have broke Jon because he tensed and began to thrust and shake until she felt the cum flood into her mouth with blasts too powerful for her to swallow while she was in the clutches on her own release. She pulled back from potentially gagging but Jon just kept cumming anyway. 

"Holy fucking shit," Jon said at some point after he'd finished ejaculating all over her. She remained on her knees, almost in shock, with her hair flowing over her cum covered face, as she recovered from the intense orgasms that had rocked them both. When Jon returned from the bathroom with a warm rag, she touched some of the cum dripping from her chin. 

_I'm addicted to this_ , she thought in reflective silence, as Jon lovingly cleaned his cum from her face, and she felt herself getting turned on all over again. 

Her first taste of cock. And she already wanted it back in her mouth, like a cock hungry slut. 

Hello addiction.

*****

"I had to have been like four, or maybe five. They thought I was sleeping. But how can I sleep hearing them argue?" Jon said as he ran his fingers over the red marks on Sansa's ass cheek. The light steady rain from outside made for a soothing atmosphere. But the thunder and lightening kept them honest, as they lay in their fathers bed at the lake-house. 

"I heard her saying she was sorry, sorry, sorry and I couldn't take it. So I went downstairs and saw her curled up on the floor. He was standing over her, taking off his belt. And I remember her shirt was ripped off and he called her a fucking whore. And then he whipped her. Whipped her like she was a child."

She clung even closer to Jon, kissing his chest and arms, embracing his body, his pain, running her fingers through his hair, while tears fell down her cheek and pooled against his chest. 

It felt so good being in his arms, connecting emotionally with him, feeling so sexually satisfied, while the droplets of rain hit the window and roof in a way that sounded like music. Perhaps it was much too soothing of an atmosphere, because they both fell asleep wrapped up in each others arms. 

Sansa woke in a panic after a particularly loud blast of thunder. 

"Fuck," Sansa said when she reached for her phone on the nightstand. She had eight missed calls, two from Margaery, two from her father, and four from her mother. 

Margaery also left a text saying "Your mom is looking for u. I told her I didn't know where u were. are u okay? need me to cover for u? call me."

It was almost 10 PM. And they still had to fix the room up and catch a ride back home, which was two hours away. 

"Fuck," she said again, watching as Jon pulled his underwear over his penis. 

She listened to the latest voicemail from her mother, asking where she was. After thinking up a lie, she looked over to the dresser mirror and saw her naked ass, still a bit red from Jon's whipping of her. Then she heard her mothers voice on the other line. "Sansa, thank the gods. Where in seven hells are you? And is Jon with you?"

She looked at Jon as he handed over her lacy panties. 

"Hey Mom, I'm so sorry, I lost track of the time," she said, while struggling to get a leg inside her panties while holding the phone to her ear. "I am with Jon. After golf, we went to the library to get some studying in, because Jon is really trying to do better in school. And, well we got hungry so we stopped to get a burger, and then it started raining, so we just ducked inside to catch a movie. His treat since I helped tutor him. I'm so sorry for forgetting to let you know we'd be home late. But we'll be home soon, right after the movie is over."

She looked over at Jon, since he'd stopped getting dressed to stare at her. 

He looked at her as if she'd just done some of the worst lying in the history of lying. 

*****

"So, are you missing your porn?" she asked Jon as they sat on a bench, resting from their hike into the words.

Jon was looking at Lady as she licked up water from her pale. But now his eyes were on her. "No. Not really."

"You sure?" she smirked. "I heard Anal Sluts Part 6 is out, now. New scenes of dumb bimbo whores getting getting asses stuffed by monster cocks."

"You're so not funny."

"I'm just saying," she grinned. 

"Well you just get ready to be the bimbo whore getting your ass stuffed," he warned.

"Hey, I'm not a bimbo," she said before lifting her shirt to expose the black bra that covered her small tits. 

They shared a laugh, though Sansa could clearly see an erection sitting in his jogging shorts now. She felt that their hour of honesty was soon about to devolve into something sexual. And after her little flash, she only had herself to blame. 

"What about you?" he asked, as he adjusted his shorts, as if to hide his erection from her. "What kind of porn do you usually get off to?"

She didn't really watch porn all that much. If anything, she wanted to make her own porn and watch that, instead of watching strangers bump uglies. "I prefer to read erotica...sometimes, fanfiction."

"Fanfiction?" he chuckled.

"What?" 

"Like, stories about the Avengers fucking each other?"

"Hey, don't make fun, this is a no judgement zone, remember?"

"You're right. No kink shaming," he said before narrowing his eyes at her. "How often do you masturbate?"

"Not that much," she shrugged. "Maybe, a few times a month?"

"Well you only mentioned my self-stimulation in your proposal letter. It didn't hit me until later how unfair that was. Putting a stop to my fapping."

"I said you can still fap. Just not to porn." Especially late at night when he was supposed to be sleeping. 

"Well I don't fap to anything else," he said. "So guess what? I'm adding a new stipulation."

"You can't add stuff after the fact."

"This isn't the fucking Constitution," he said. "I'm adding this stipulation to make this fair. You're not allowed to masturbate unless I watch."

"What?"

"And not only that, you need to ask for my permission to masturbate."

"How is that fair?"

"How is it fair that I can't watch porn?"

She couldn't help but laugh at him. He really did have a porn addiction. "Whatever. It's not like I masturbate all that much anyway."

"Shake on it," he said, extending his hand. They locked hands and shook. 

"Do you have a favorite?" Sansa asked Jon after she took a few more swigs of water.  "Bitch, slut, whore. Which one really does it for you?"

"Honestly, I don't know," he said.  Because they were being so honest with each other, she believed him, though she wished to help him discover for himself why the words made him feel so much power. He still held on to fears that he was hurting her in some permanent way when he hurled those demeaning words to her. "Do you hate it when I call you a bitch, or slut, or whore?"

She shook her head. "No. I honestly don't. The vulgarity does something to me in my head. Something wild.  And my body goes crazy for the degradation. I kind of love it in the heat of the moment, when I'm naked, and being dominated. It's like I take everything that could ever hurt me, and I just let all of the pure, raw emotion of it wash over me in one satisfying moment. It's really intense and overwhelming. But in a good way."

"I always fear I'm going too far, wounding you too deep. You're not a whore. You're not a slut. I still don't think it's healthy for you to get off on being called one."

"It's only with you that I get off on it," she said. "Because you know me. Really know me. I don't think I'd ever enjoy being called names by anyone else. But I trust you.  That's what makes it a safe way to be hurt by words." She could see him considering her words. She wanted to cement the truth of them. "You also tend to me after the abuse. You hold me, and wipe away my tears, and clean me up. I look forward to that as much as anything."

She was thankful for him being so concerned about her feelings, but she really desired to know more about how he felt. He seemed to be trying to use their hour of honesty to focus on her. She couldn't let him weasel out of exploring his darkness. "Do you hate women?"

He almost recoiled from the question. "No, I don't hate women."

"I'm not judging you. I swear I'm not. I just want to know where it all comes from. The "dirty bitch" and "filthy slut" language and desire to hurt said dirty bitches and sluts."

He took a deep breath, looked at Lady, at their feet, and sighed. He wasn't allowed to lie to her. "I don't know. Maybe I do."

"Do you hate me?" she asked. 

"No, I do not. And I don't hate Arya, or feel any of the things for her that I feel for you. I know you had questions about that once. But those feelings are only feelings I have towards you. And they only stared after you started planting the seeds."

She appreciated that answer. Part of her felt like she needed to rehabilitate him so that she could make sure her siblings were protected. Or at least that is what she made herself believe to make herself feel okay about the potentially dangerous things he'd confessed to feeling. 

"Do you hate Lady?"she said, patting her dog on the head. The question broke down some of the tension in his face, though his smile was still weak.

"I love Lady."

She leaned forward and smirked. "What did you think about Captain Marvel?" 

"It was completely fine. Standard Marvel movie. I liked it enough.  Since we're on movies, I liked the new Ghostbusters, Fury Road was fucking awesome, and I think Rey is a badass." He chuckled. "Look, if I hate women, you're not going to discover it because of the media I like."

He was right. She'd never noticed him pitching a fight over movies or tv shows that starred women. Plus, one of his favorite bands indie bands, Daenerys and the Three Dragons, was a female-fronted band that made songs with female-centric topics and feminist themes. Their latest album BREAKING THE WHEEL, was all about tearing down patriarchy and it seemed to be one of Jon's favorite records. She heard him trying to learn how to play some of the songs. 

Jon also had never expressed any thoughts to her that seemed to indicate any conservative ideas about the place of women in society.

"I don't think you're a misogynist," she said. "At least not politically, or socially."

"So what does that leave?" he asked. "My being a misogynist personally?"

"No, I'm not saying that either."

"So what are you saying?"

She realized this was well beyond her knowledge base. She didn't have the vocabulary to express what she felt. " It's just confusing. You don't seem like a chauvinist to me. But still, I see the look on your face when I'm with my friends, and we're dressed in tight clothes, or wearing heels, and flirting with guys, or when we're being all snooty tooty. Hell, I play into the role sometimes and act extra girly and feminine because I like what it does to you. It makes you wanna tear off my clothes, call me a fucking whore, or a stupid bitch and put me in my place. It makes you want to hurt me. I don't want to call that misogyny if that isn't what it actually is, but I guess I'm just stumped on what I  _should_ call it?"

He shrugged. But it looked like he was thinking about something he just didn't want to share. "You know a lot of women like the kind of stuff I'm into, right? My shrink told me that there is a lot of research that says women seek out abusive pornography more than men do. Pornhub puts out their site statistics every year, and they say that women search for hardcore, rough sex, and gangbang stuff more than men. Is that misogyny?"

She couldn't speak to this supposed research, or the porn preferences of women on those websites. She just didn't want Jon to hide behind other people. She wanted his feelings to be the focus of their dialogue. She grabbed his hand and placed her chin on his shoulder. Looking into his eyes she asked "Do you think your feelings go back to your mom? You think because she was a stripper, it plays into why you feel a certain way?"

It was subtle, but she felt his body slightly pull away from her. "I don't want to blame every single thing I ever feel on my mom. I can't freaking say I don't like broccoli without someone thinking my mom must have thrown broccoli at me when I was four," he snapped "She doesn't get to control everything about me, especially my sexuality. I'm tired of everyone suggesting that it all goes back to her."

She'd struck a nerve, so she wasn't surprised to see him react this way. But she thought it was necessary to ask him, to force him to talk about it with her. She held him with her arms, not letting her eyes leave his eyes. "I think you're angry at her. Really, really angry. think some of your kinks are tied to your anger."

"And what do you know?" he asked. His voice was dripping with sarcasm. "You're not a psychologist. You're a high school girl."

"Fine, I'm not an expert. But I hear you, Jon. I see you. I think it's just worth considering that maybe you want to hurt women because..."

"Fuck Sansa," he said, yanking his shoulder away and standing up. "I resent that stupid psycho sexual Oedipus Complex everyone wants to say perfectly describes me. It pisses me off. I swear if anyone suggests I want to fuck my mom again.." he balled his first. 

She didn't want to lose him by pushing too hard, too soon. And she also didn't want to stroke the flames of a violent outburst. So she immediately pulled herself back. "I'm sorry," she told him softly. "I didn't mean to imply that. I'm really sorry."

It took at least a minute before Jon had calmed himself. He sat down with her, releasing a chest full of breath before looking at her. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap like that. You're only trying to help me. I just don't like talking about her. Especially when I'm talking about my desires for you."

She held him for a long time, content to just be there with him for the rest of their time together.  But he broke the silence while she gently caressed his shoulder and ran her fingers through his scruffy beard. "What's the worst thing you've ever done?" he asked, his eyes glued to her. "What's something truly awful that you did to another person. Something that would make people think you were a bad person if they found out?"

She tried to think of anything else but there was only one incredibly selfish moment that she hadn't ever been able to force out of her subconscious. 

"No judgement?" she asked him.

"No Judgement," he promised. 

She gathered a deep breath, as her thoughts converged on Cersei.

*****

Sansa peaked inside Jon's bedroom and saw him at his desk, reading his Old Valyria History textbook.

He really was applying himself to his studies now.

She thought it was so cute.

*****

The cool AC blasted the ladies as they entered the house, leaving behind the oppressive afternoon heat. 

"Thank the gods," Margaery said as she flopped her sweaty body on the sofa. "Oh yes, this feels so good."

Sansa rolled right up to the sofa and collapsed on top of her friend, too tired and hot to care that Margaery wasn't furniture. "Get off me, I need to breathe!"  Margaery giggled as she pushed her best friend on the floor. Sansa was too gassed to even care, as she lay there on the floor, letting the cool AC wash over her. 

Eventually, the sweat that had drenched her clothes became cold, and that was when she felt rejuvenated enough to sit up and remove her skates. 

"That was fun," Sansa said, referencing how the two girls had roller skated around the city for a few hours before racing home. Sansa had won the race. Of course she did. She didn't like losing. 

"Yeah, it was kind of like old times," Margaery said as she returned with two glasses of ice cold lemonade. After handing Sansa one of the glasses and taking a sip from hers, she added "I"m just glad you found a moment to squeeze me into your busy schedule."

"I'm sorry, I know I've been super busy." Busy on her knees, swallowing her brothers cock, she thought guiltily. 

"I'm just fucking with you," Margaery said as she sat with Sansa on the floor, placing her feet next to Sansa's tired feet. They hadn't roller skated like this since middle school. And their bodies were letting them know that they probably should have eased back into it.

"No, you're right. I haven't spent enough time with you lately and that's on me. I'll do better because I really missed this."

They smiled at each other before Margaery flipped on her TV. "How has the tutoring been with Jon? I hope its been worth it. He better be getting straight A's."

Sansa thought about the last time she tutored him. That study session gave her back to back orgasms.  "He actually got a 94 on his last math test," Sansa said, thinking about how Jon had showed her the test and then smacked her on the ass, which had made her butthole pucker. "And he hates math."

"Look at you," she nudged her. "Saving lives."

They shared a chuckle, but Sansa couldn't help thinking about the trepidation she now felt regarding Jon's suddenly good grades. Sure, she thought his D's would turn into C's and his C's would turn into B's, but she hadn't truly expected for Jon's improved study habits to produce nearly instant good grades. 

But he must have wanted her ass that much. And now she felt like it was a strong possibility that she would have to follow through on her promise.

She reflected on what was starting to feel inevitable, as the two girls cooled off, aired out their pink feet, and finished off their lemonade. And then she made the uneasy but necessary decision to involve her friend in her blossoming sex life. 

"Marg, what was it like?" she threw out there to gain her full attention away from the tv, before she continued. "When you gave up your backdoor to Renley."

Margaery looked entirely caught off guard by the question, and perhaps how loudly Sansa had asked it. Instinctively, she checked to make sure they were alone in the room before she returned her gaze to her friend, though she now had a curious but somewhat shy grin on her lips. "Well that was out of nowhere. Why are you asking?"

"I'm just curious," Sansa said. "We never really talked about what it was like."

"Well, do you wanna know what it was like the first time with Renly, or...the times after that? Big difference."

"You've done it more than once?" Sansa asked. She didn't know why she was so surprised. If a girl was willing to do it once with her boyfriend, surely that left room for seconds, and thirds. But still, "times after" still left her feeling surprised. "With who? Asher? Dickon? Joff?"

She held in an innocent smirk before nodding demurely.

Sansa nearly choked. "All of them?

Seven hells. How can you play demure after admitting to being butt fucked by four different guys. Margaery was only 14.

"Dickon likes it," Margaery shrugged, before something unspoken made her add on. "I like it, too."

"Doesn't it hurt?" she asked. 

"With Renly, honestly, no. It didn't really feel good but it didn't hurt much either. I was more afraid than in pain. He was gentle. Patient. It was fine. For all of the 30 seconds it lasted."

"Asher?"

"It was okay. Lot more pain. But it wasn't awful."

Joffrey was the elephant in the room, the one time Sansa and Margaery had ever truly argued over a boy. Sansa had liked him first, but stopped liking him after she found out he was the primary list starter that ranked all of the girls.

Margaery had initially expressed disgust with Joffrey too, but somehow, the two of them ended up hooking up at a party during the first semester of high school. And then they hooked up again a few days later, in the school parking lot. Then they hooked up again at his house. 

When Margaery told Sansa about hooking up with Joffrey, Sansa had been upset with her. For having sex with her former crush for one, but also for having sex with a guy that they'd both decried as a smug, arrogant, asshole. Sansa couldn't understand why she would have given herself away to such a guy. And in the midst of the conversation, she said some words to her friend that was basically slut shaming. 

Their beef only lasted a week - they could hardly stand to be at odds with each other - and after they shared their tears and Sansa apologized 100 times, they hugged it out and became friends again. 

But this whole anal sex thing was news to her. She really didn't know that Margaery had given Joffrey anal, too. 

"And with Joffrey?" she asked, leaning more on her curiosity than her disappointment. 

"It hurt like hell," Margaery admitted. "He didn't use lube. He just kind of just... spit on it, rubbed his finger around and rammed it up there."

Sansa felt her butt clench tighter, right as her stomach turned. "Damn, that fucking prick."

"I mean, it wasn't the worst pain ever. I was pretty drunk so it numbed the feeling a bit, it just wasn't really comfortable. I told him to let up a little, and..."

Sansa saw Margaery pause, as if she was unsure if she should reveal the next part. But if Sansa was ever unsure about Margaery trusting her, that was all put to rest whenever she revealed the next part. "I kind of felt something wet, and squishy when he pulled out of me. And then I saw the look on his face as he went, 'oh shit."

Sansa held her hand to her mouth. "No."

Margaery closed her eyes and shook her head, clearly embarrassed. "Just a little bit."

"Damn, damn, damn" Sansa muttered. "Really?"

Margaery nodded. "I froze in horror when I saw it. I almost died. I couldn't even look him in the face. I just kept saying "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry.' I was trying so hard not to cry."

Sansa felt second hand embarrassment. She'd always saw her best friend's sexuality as sophisticated, mature, and in some ways, she envied her sexual confidence. Margaery was one of the most beautiful and sexy girls she knew. Seeing her sexuality in a context that wasn't sexy or confident was jarring. It brought her back to the night she saw Margaery blacked out and drunk, vomiting her guts out.

But Sansa didn't want to traumatize her friend all over again, or make her sit with the embarrassment for longer than it was necessary to confess the fact of what had happened to her. She definitely didn't want the unflattering moment to be something she had to atone for. It wasn't her fault. "Well, what would he expect? " she snapped in defense of her best friend. "You're only human. You shouldn't have to apologize. He's the one that should have apologized for initiating impromptu anal. "

Margaery made a face that showed she half agreed. "Yeah but still. He didn't sign up for that. And I should have known better. I had had a big meal before I went to his house."

Sansa wanted to argue that he did indeed sign up for it, but she held her tongue. "What did he say?"

"He just sort of laughed it off, like, don't worry about it. I sobered up fast but he was still kind of drunk and out of it. I don't think he cared as much as I did. I ran to the toilet to...you know..  While I was in the middle of that, he just strolls in and hops in the shower. Told me to join him when I was done. I was mortified. But I guess he thought, if we just had sex, then we can share a shower together. As soon as I flushed, I put on my clothes and just got the hell out of there."

Sansa always thought Margaery had stopped messing with Joff because she felt guilty about the dynamic of their relationship. But that explanation suddenly felt inadequate and naive. "Is that why you stopped hooking up with him?"

"Wouldn't you?" she asked, her eyes narrowed and her voice pointed. "We're so deliberate with everything we do, the way we walk, what we wear, how we talk, it's all crafted in a way to be cute or sexy, or a tease to something cute or sexy. What happened that night with Joff, it wasn't cute. It definitely wasn't sexy."

"But it was human," Sansa said.

"Girl, no one wants to be human in front of a hot guy. We wanna be goddesses. Irresistible. We can be human when we get old and meet the guy we'll settle down with. But until we start popping out babies, everything a guy seems me do needs to be cute or sexy. And that didn't happen with Joff.  He still texts me sometimes, you know, hinting at hanging out." 

"Well if he's still wanting to hook up then he still thinks you're cute and sexy," Sansa said. 

"But I don't feel cute or sexy when I'm around him. I feel gross. My pussy goes dirt dry. He's seen me. No one but maybe my future husband is supposed to really see me, stripped down and vulnerable and humiliated. He's seen shit he wasn't supposed to see. "

"Literally."

"Shut up," she said, punching her shoulder and laughing. 

"I see your point."

"So yeah, I was totally done with him after that. Totally done with butt stuff in general. The first guy I tried it with turned out to be gay for my brother. Which is really gross when you think about it." She skipped past her short time dating Asher. "And the third guy, I can't even look at without thinking about toilets." 

"So what made you change your mind with Dickon?"

"I wish I had a straight forward, logical answer," she said. "I guess, it sort of snuck up on me. When we started fooling around, he would go down on me and, out of nowhere, would start sticking his tongue in the no-no spot. And I'd tell him that's the no-no spot. But, well, it also sort of felt good. And I guess my body betrayed my words."

"So he just ignored your no?"

"Don't make him out to be a rapist, Sansa." The bite in her tone made it clear that the subject was not up for debate. And if Sansa was being honest, her and Jon's sexual experiences had been tinged with questionable consent. So she couldn't blame her friend for defending the progression of her sexual relationship with her current boyfriend. "I let him do it. And I liked letting him do it."

"I hear you," Sansa said. "But how did it go from, licking to..."

"It's not a long way to travel," Margaery said. "First he licks it, then he wants to do the whole 1 in the pink, 1 in the stink thing. Next thing you know, you're alone in his bedroom, smoking pot, naked, horny, and he starts to aim his dick a little higher than it needs to go. You know, his way to ask permission to push in. And you want to please him, so..."

She bit a fingernail off and spat it out. ""It really gets him going, you know. Butt stuff. You wouldn't think so because he's so clean cut, but Dickon is a bit of a freak. I think it's cause his family is conservative, so he's pretty repressed. So when we fool around, I can't keep him from wanting to explore my ass. Fingering my ass, kissing my ass, licking my ass, sucking my ass..."

"Fucking your ass," Sansa cut in. 

"What can I say? I like to please my man."

She seemed a bit on the defensive. Sansa didn't want her friend to think she was judging her. If anything, she wanted to know more because knowing more might help her with Jon, who also seemed to be a bit obsessed with asses. She softened her face. "I just want to make sure he appreciates you for that. The mental hurdles you had to clear to allow him back there."

"Oh he does. I had to teach him. When to be soft and gentle and slow, when to be firm. When its okay to smack my ass and pull my hair. But after lots and lots of lube and an afternoon of smoking pot and trying out sex toys, we got it together. And it's been really, really good after that. I like it now."

"So it does feel good, like, actually pleasurable for you?" she asked. "I don't mean you liking that he likes it. I mean you physically enjoying a cock in your ass."

"Yes, it genuinely feels good when it's done right. I mean, gay guys aren't out there doing it for no reason," she giggled. 

"But guys have prostates. It's like a male g-spot in their assholes."

"It can be orgasmic for us too," Margaery insisted. She had the first hand experience, so where did Sansa have any room to doubt her? Plus, Sansa had found out giving head was orgasmic for her and it wasn't like there was a G-Spot in her throat.

"I think it works out better for us if the cock is a bit on the smaller side," Margaery continued. "Like Dickon isn't huge by any means, so he sort of..pops right in. The only thing that kind of sucks is you have to eat right and prep for it, you know, so you're nice and clean back there and you don't have to worry about having a shitty experience. I fast a day or two before I know I'm going to let him back there. Plus I do enemas routinely now and just eat a lot of fiber."

She could tell her words weren't really doing anal sex any justice, so she continued to elaborate. "But it really is worth it with the right guy. The only way I can describe it, is like a fullness. You feel filled. And all of the nerve endings in your asshole start to tingle. And if he's fucking it the right way you can start to get some clit stimulation going and that's when it starts being like wow. Oh yeah, keep going baby." She moaned sexily, presumably to simulate how she sounds when a cock is fucking her ass. 

"That's, like, wow," Sansa said. "I honestly never would have suspected you were into this."

"Well, I knew you didn't want to hear any of the details about Joff," Margaery said. "And you've been so busy lately, we haven't really had time to talk, talk. And even when we do, I don't wan't to fail the Bethel test and smother you with talk about the kind of sex I'm having with my boyfriend."

The two girls shared a laugh, before Margaery leaned closer to her best friend, eying her.

"What?" Sansa asked. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Are you thinking about giving someone your backdoor?" she asked, peering into her. 

Sansa tried to laugh off the suggestion. "Uh, no." But she felt like a dirty little liar, and just hoped she wasn't turning red or giving off any other tell tall signs of dishonesty. 

"So why do you wanna know what it feels like?" Margaery grilled her. 

"I'm just curious. I heard some dirty song the other day talking about anal sex and I just randomly thought about it. Just thought I'd ask someone that's actually done it, what it's like."

Margaery assessed her friend for what felt like a grueling minute or two, but was probably no more than ten seconds. But it was long enough for Sansa to feel compelled to end the silence. She opened her mouth without knowing exactly she was going to say, but a lie found her lips quick enough to to be convincing. "I dunno, maybe I've also had a guy or two hint around it. You know, as a loophole."

"Ooooohhh," Margaery nodded. "Have some alternative 'not really sex' and keep your maidenhead. Like that one song we used to laugh about."

Sansa knew the one she was talking about. "Thank you for making me holy. And thank you for giving me holes to choose from. And since I'm not a godless whore. You'll have to come in the backdoor," she sang. 

They both continued singing and giggling about the song that parodied girls from religious families deciding to have anal sex as a loophole to preserve their virginity. The scenario may have been real for many girls, but it was entirely fictional for Sansa. A lie thought up on the spot to hide that Sansa herself had offered Jon anal, for the simple fact that she thought his fascination with anal would push him to agree to the entire proposal. 

But Sansa was in too deep with her lie to stop now. 

"Which guy? I didn't even know you were talking to anyone."

"I mean, I'm not really 'talking' talking to anyone. But, Pod likes me. And we've... talked."

"About him knocking on your backdoor."

"Maybe not knocking. Ringing the doorbell."

They both laughed at this dirty metaphor that didn't even make sense. When Sansa found her friends eyes, she could tell that she no longer seemed skeptical about her reasons for bringing it up. In fact, now she seemed excited to continue to talk about the merits of anal sex, if and when Sansa ever wanted to try it, and how to make it pleasurable.

"You have to order some toys," she insisted. "Sex toys are a must. They help break you in. And get a nice bottle of silicon based lube. Not that cheap Vaseline crap from the department store. I love warming lube, oh gods, it feels so good. And don't worry, when you order from online, it ships discreet and shows up on credit statements as something generic. It won't say, like "4 inch red butt plug" or anything."

"Butt plugs?" Sansa asked. 

"Yeah, let me show you."

Sansa followed Margaery to her bedroom and watched as she went into the secret hiding spot in her closet and returned with several sex toys, including  three different sized butt plugs. A red one, a slightly bigger blue one, and then a stainless steel plug, the one she said she liked to use during sex. 

Although Sansa laughed as her friend showed off her sex toys and broke down how they were supposed to be used in preparation for sex, hearing Margaery explain this as if she was some kind of expert also made her feel weird, if not a little sad. She couldn't help but reflect on something Jon's therapist had once told him. 

_Survivors of abuse tend to become sexually active earlier than their peers._

The thoughts eventually soured her on hearing Margaery elaborate so convincingly on the kind of sex she'd been having in the past year. Sex combined with drugs and alcohol. Casual sex that had given her a slutty, promiscuous reputation around school, and could have contributed to why someone like Joffrey had even thought to try to fuck her ass without asking. Maybe Asher had told Joff that she was easy. And maybe Margaery was so willing because she wanted to get over the pain of what happened with her youth pastor. 

Long after they got finished talking about sex, but with the talk still very fresh and concerning in Sansa's mind, Sansa decided to address what was bothering her. 

"I know you said you didn't want to see a therapist when I first brought it up, but have you given it any more thought ?" she asked, hoping like hell her friend wouldn't get defensive, or connect this question to the fun-loving talk they'd just had about sex. 

"Not really." She looked like she didn't even want to talk about it now with her, let alone with a professional. 

"I don't wanna force it on you or anything. But sometimes I just worry. Like, you still have to see that fucking asshole. That freaks me out. I know it affects you. It just seems like it would help if you had someone to talk to about it."

Margaery looked at her for several moments, as if absorbing her words, before her contemplative frown dissolved into a friendly smile. "That's why I have you, girl. I told you what he did while you bathed me of my own vomit. I think thats a million times better than talking to some shrink in a cold sterile, lifeless office." She grabbed her hand, and looked deep into her friends eyes. "I don't need some hundred dollar an hour stranger to hear me out. You're my best friend. I love you. I trust you. I know you don't judge me. That's enough for me."

It was a fair stance to take. But deep down, it didn't feel like the correct one. 

*****

Their sixty minute honesty sessions weren't always about sex. In fact, most of the time, they seemed to go out of their way to talk about something other than sex.

But this wasn't one of those times. Not after Sansa had discovered that her best friend enjoyed anal sex. Of course Sansa didn't tell Jon this. Being honest with Jon didn't mean voluntarily sharing with him what Margaery told her in confidence. But she did bring up the topic of anal sex, framing it in a way where Jon was forced to elaborate on why he liked watching porn that featured a girl getting pounded in the ass.

That conversation on the swings led to Sansa talking honestly about her infatuation with taboo pain and pleasure, mainly that she enjoyed being bitten and choked.

"Your erogenous zone is in your neck," he told her before placing a finger on the nape of her neck and sliding it to the front of her throat. The gasp that came out of her mouth made it impossible for her to argue, if she wanted to argue at all.

"Yeah, that's kind of my magic spot," she confessed it out loud for the first time. It was obvious by now, especially since her first orgasm had been the result of Jon biting her on the neck. But there was something rewarding about speaking self evident truths out loud. Not that speaking them made them realer; more-so, speaking the truths about her weird desires and thoughts out loud made her feel validated. "Touch my neck the right way and I get tongue tied and weak in the knees and...really wet."

"Do you have any other spots?" he asked with a wicked grin.

This felt like a trap. But they were being honest. She was bound by their agreement to be completely transparent. 

"My ear lobes," she confessed. "Particularly my inner ear. They are so sensitive. Anything near my ear puts me on heightened alert. I remember when I was younger and I got my ears pierced, and the guy was kind of cute, and his finger brushed inside my earlobe, and it felt so strange. But good strange. I was thinking about it the entire time and didn't even feel the pain." 

She paused to gauge his reaction. He looked amused. "And there was this one time, kind of recently, where my hair stylist kept touching my ear, and it was uncomfortable, but also sort of thrilling? It's such a personal space. Being touched there is almost like a violation. But I can't help but like it, too. I know I must sound really weird. "

"That's not weird at all," he said. "Makes a lot of sense, actually. I notice you flush several shades when I whisper something in your ear. Now I know why."

She swallowed the lump in her throat. She wanted him to be as vulnerable as she felt right then. "So where is your erogenous zone?"

*****

Sansa took delight in the whimper Jon made as he released into her mouth. She loved it more than the actual taste and consistency of his cum. And it was that excitement that always made it easier for her to swallow the warm goo that splattered on her tongue. 

She continued sucking him off until it became too much for him to take and he had to pull her hair to remove her lips from his cock. A long rope of saliva stretched from the end of his penis and her lips, and then burst as he stared down at her. The exhausted, but completely satisfied look on his face made her so hot.

Jon pulled up his pants while she waited patiently on her knees for what he had in store for her. But when he flopped down on his bed and asked "Do you wanna watch a movie?" she realized that this was it. 

It kind of offended her. But on the same token, having him use her for a release also turned her on even more. "No, I want to cum."

He put his arms behind his head and lay on his bed, looking at her on her knees. "Sorry to hear that. Go take a cold shower."

"You're not gonna make me cum?" she asked. 

"Maybe later." He yawned as if he was now so relaxed, all he wanted to do was nap. "Kind of drained, right now, if you can believe it."

Oh she could believe he was drained. He'd drained his balls of cum. Cum that was now on a path to her belly. 

She bit her lip, the taste of his cum still prominent on her tongue and watched as he pretended to sleep. She knew he was playing a game. She could see from the rising bulge in his pants that he found denying her pleasure a turn on.  Fine, she thought. She liked games. Sooner or later, she knew she'd wear him down and he would have to give her a release. 

She got up off the floor as he started to snore. 

She went to her room and took a cold shower. 

*****

She lay on her back, naked, legs spread, as Jon firmly slid a sharp razor across her pubic region. He was careful, attentive, even loving with the way he moved the blade against her skin until she was as smooth as a baby.

Shaving had always felt like a chore, a grooming assignment, that was no more arousing than washing her hair. But Jon had turned it into something naughty, something intimate and terrifying. A moment where she had to give him her trust and submit so completely. Each stroke was strong enough to cut her skin. The inherent danger was thrilling. The fact that his eyes were so intensely focused on her swollen pussy provided its own thrilling layer. 

The whole thing turned her on beyond belief. 

But after Jon was finished patting her mons dry with a warm towel, and after he ran a finger across her skin to make sure she was as bald as she looked, and after he allowed a finger to slice through the wetness of her pussy, he handed her the panties he'd picked out for her that day and told her to get dressed. Then he left. 

When she saw him at school later that day, she bailed from her group of friends to ask for his permission. "It's been 23 days. When we get home, can I please masturbate?"

"We'll see," was all he said before leaving her where she stood.

Her friends couldn't understand why she was so mean to them the rest of the day.

*****

Sansa was almost there, just another twenty or thirty more seconds of furiously rubbing her clit and she would reach the peak and be able to fall back to earth, exhausted and satisfied. Maybe even shorter than that if Jon kept looking at her like that.

But in one of the confusing and agonizing moments of her life, Jon said "Okay, that's enough," before grabbing her wrist.

She looked up at him, panting. "Wh...what?"

"That's enough," he said before handing over the panties she'd discarded as soon as her bedroom door closed behind her. "Put back on your pants. And lets go for our walk."

"I'm almost there," she said, trying to touch herself. But he blocked her hand, as if her pussy was his pussy, and he decided if she was allowed to touch it. 

"You asked if you could masturbate, not if you could have an orgasm," he told her. 

"Jon," she said, exasperated. She was willing to beg him. "Please."

"Be more precise with your words next time," he said. "Put on your pants and let's go jogging."

She threw her head back against the bed and it took everything in her not to throw a temper tantrum as if she was back in pre school.

*****

"Can I masturbate and have an orgasm tonight?" she asked him with precise language as he loaded dirty dishes into the dishwasher after dinner. 

She didn't care about how loud she was being either. 

"Absolutely not."

"You're being an asshole."

He grabbed her waist and brought her into his him before kissing her neck, the spot he knew drove her wild. She nearly had an orgasm right there in the kitchen, as he nursed her neck, knowing her parents were in the living room. But then he pulled back right as she started to moan. 

It took her a moment to catch her breath and steady herself from the dizzying pleasure he gave her out of nowhere. Her knees felt wobbly, like she was a newborn calf. And worst of all, he thought the whole thing was amusing, judging by that big smile on his face. 

"So does that mean I can now?" she asked, her body on fire. 

"No, it doesn't."

"Then you just made it worse."

"I know," he said before turning his back on her to finish with the dishes. "Go take a cold shower."

*****

"I can't take it anymore," she said to Jon, in the middle of the hallway, as she removed her shirt over her head and tossed it to the floor. "It's almost been a month!"

"What are you doing?" he asked, while watching her unsnap her bra. A gasp washed around the crowd that gathered as she revealed her tits to her brother, uncaring that she was also exposing herself to her fellow students. 

"What does it look like I'm doing?" she said as more and more people began to gather, and point at Sansa Stark, the most popular girl in her class, undressing at Jon's locker.

"You can't do this here," Jon said, even as his cock grew stiff against his pants. 

"You did this to me," she told him as her jeans slipped off her waist and fell to her feet. "You reduced me to this."

She kissed his lips and ignited his flame. When she opened her eyes, Jon had snatched her panties away, and she stood naked before him, before what had to have been hundreds of gawking students, that were watching this scandalous scene before them. 

"Okay slut, if you insist," Jon said before throwing her down on her hands and knees, right there on the cold, tile floor of her school hallway. She'd tried to keep her eyes on Jon, and only Jon, but with him forcing her into this position, she now had a clear and terrifying view of all of the faces in the crowd.

They whispered, and laughed, and whistled, and cheered as she looked at them from her position of vulnerability.  

"Wow, Sansa's a slut!" someone in the crowd said, before laughter washed over them.

"She's cock hungry for her own brother," someone else said. 

She closed her eyes to hide from the shame, right as Jon entered her from behind, taking her like a dog, like a bitch, right there in front of the entire school. When she opened her eyes, saw that the students were now tossing dollar bills at her. "I want next," Joffrey said as he slid a dollar bill into her mouth. 

When Jon was finished with her, she found herself on her back, as Joffrey climbed between her thighs and before she could protest, stuck his cock inside her cum-filled pussy. He held her down and spread her legs wider as he fucked her. When he was finished, another guy took his place. Then another, then another, and another. 

"No," she heard herself say, but no one reacted as if they heard her. "I can't take anymore." But more cocks continued to find her.

It felt as if half of the boys in her class had filled her pussy with their cum by the time she looked up, and in complete shame and embarrassment, saw Tywin Lannister standing with his daughter, Cersei. 

"See dad, I told you she was a stupid whore," her former friend said. And right as she was saying it, one of the boys put his cock to her asshole.

She wanted to apologize to Cersei, but the the cock invaded her asshole and she yelped out in pain instead. Then the guy started to ram her from the rear, all while she cried out from shame. 

Tywin shook his head at the spectacle, at this...whore that used to be the respectable Sansa Stark, the respect she once saw from his eyes gone, replaced with contempt.

"Fuck this dirty slut harder," Cersei encouraged with a laugh. "Make sure she won't be able to shit right for a week." The complete stranger that was becoming intimately familiar with her most private opening responded to Cersei's prodding by holding Sansa down forcefully, dialing up his stroke to eleven. Cersei bent down, and eyed Sansa as she was taken. "And don't you dare cry. You know what you did to me, you two faced bitch. You deserve this."

She took a step back and yelled "Fuck that bitch!", her words moving through the riled up onlookers, who began to chant it like a song. 

"Fuck that bitch, fuck that bitch, fuck that bitch!"

The cock thrust into Sansa and as she cried out, fresh cock slid into her mouth to silence her, and somehow, defying physics, another cock slid into her soaked and loose cunt. Now three guys were inside her at once, fucking her holes into submission. 

_No, no, no._   

It wasn't supposed to go like this. 

_It was just supposed to be Jon inside of me. Not all of these cocks, not all of these people._

She tried to call for her brother to be rescued from this degradation, but she couldn't talk because Ramsay was shooting his load into her mouth. Then she heard someone say "have your turn bro," and all she could do was close her eyes and surrender to being fucked by anyone that wanted her. 

After being coated in cum, from head to toe, she lay used and disgraced, as the crowd laughed, and jeered. She tried to identify the individuals that were seeing her like this, but even her eyes were covered in cum. Rather than wipe the mess from her eyes, she closed her eyes and curled her legs up to her chest to hug herself. How could she ever face these people again? Would she even be able to look at herself in the mirror again?

She felt a hand on her skin. Then felt those hands turn her body until she was laying on her back. Another man wanted to have a go at her. She thought to tell him the show was over, but after he spread her legs, she realized her dignity was already gone. What did it matter if another one took from an empty shell?

But when she opened her eyes, she saw that this wasn't a stranger, this was her brother. "Jon," she cried as he looked down at her. She felt so ashamed that she'd let so many people have her, when she'd pledged her body to him. "I'm sorry, Jon. I'm, so, so sorry."

"Don't be sorry," he said softly before blessing her forehead with the sweetest kiss she'd ever had. "I love you, Sansa."

"B...but..." she couldn't believe it. He...loved her? "But I'm a whore."

"And I love you," he said, kissing a tear away. "I'll always love you." 

Jon entered her warmth and she cried out to the heavens. He kissed her cum covered lips and began to move his hips sensually into her body until he was swimming inside her.

_He's making love to me_ , she realized with sudden, peaceful clarity.  _He's making sweet love to me._

She wrapped her legs around him and held tight to his ass to pull him deeper, as she embraced his lips, and thrusts, and unconditional love for her. 

Moments earlier, she'd been a puddle of regret, shame and fluids. Now, the emotional roller coaster had her flying at overwhelming speeds, racing towards an exciting climax that made her life feel meaningful again. As the pleasure of his thrusts built and built, the humiliation she felt faded away, until she moaned without reservation or care for who might see her actually enjoying sex. 

"Oh yes," she panted as he made love to her, and she accepted that she was allowed to enjoy it.  "Thank you, thank you, thank you. Oh gods, thank you." And when the she felt her rising pleasure crest to her peak, she announced "I'm going....I'm going to cum."

"Cum for me sweet girl," he encouraged in a voice that didn't quite sound like him. "Cum for your brother."

Her heart melted as her body overheated and braced for an explosion of volcanic proportions. But her mind told her something was off.  And it wasn't just because she knew she was dreaming. Even dreams had parts to them that were real. 

She wiped at her eyes, smearing sperm and spit and and tears and makeup, so she could clearly see the man that loved her so dearly, the man that was giving her such sweet, endearing pleasure.

Wiping the mess away from her eyes brought forth clear vision, even as her emotions shattered into a million pieces.

The wrong brother was looking down at her. The wrong brother was making love to her. The wrong brother was about to make her...

Sansa's body shook violently right as a scream was ripped from her throat. 

...and then she woke up. 

Sweaty.

Panicked. 

Confused. 

Terrified.

With drenched panties and swollen nipples. 

"What the fuck was that," she panted to herself, trying to catch her breath and make sense of that terrible nightmare. 

*****

Her sleep was restless. Her dreams were strange and lurid and nightmarish. And every time she roused herself back awake, she noticed her hands were either inside her panties or stimulating her nipple. 

The final time she woke up, she found herself humping her pillow. 

This constant lingering arousal was torture. And she couldn't take it anymore. 

She pressed her finger to her clit and gasped. Gods, her nub was swollen. Her lips were swollen too. And her pussy was so wet. She needed to relieve herself of the burning tension. She needed it. 

Who the fuck was Jon to tell her she wasn't allowed to touch herself? Who the hell made him the boss of her?

_You did, you idiot._

She wanted to say the hell with him, and she almost did when she felt that wave of pleasure shoot through her. But something inside of her, something shockingly strong, just wouldn't let her rub herself as she lay there in the darkness. She knew it could be her secret. And even if Jon found out she masturbated to orgasm without his approval. What would be the big deal? It was her fucking body, not his. 

But she couldn't do it. 

She just couldn't betray her words, her promise, their agreement. She screamed silently into her pillow for several agonizing moments before rolling out of bed, throwing on her housecoat and leaving her room. She tip toed down the hall and opened his door, not bothering with a knock that could alert anyone to her being awake at 2:35 in the morning. 

She saw the source of all of her sexual frustration, just sleeping peacefully in his bed. She'd given him a nice blowjob two days before. Of course he was able to have a perfectly nice night of sleep. He was living the life. 

She shook his arms. "Jon, wake up."

He looked like a person always looks when suddenly awakened out of their sleep. Slightly annoyed and disoriented. "Sa...what's going on?"

"May I please masturbate and have an orgasm?" she asked. She felt pitiful as the words left her mouth. "I've never been so fucking horny in my life."

This seemed to wake him up, as a smile came to his face.

 "I really, really need to cum," she whispered forcefully. "I'm having crazy sex dreams. I can't sleep. I need relief."

"Go take a cold shower," he told her.

It felt cruel. It'd been nearly 600 hours since her last orgasm. She did the math. And Jon had his own release less than 24 hours ago. This was not fair.

"Jon please," she begged him. 

"Just hold off a little bit longer," he said with some measure of concern in his voice as he seemingly dropped his 'go take a shower' persona and saw that she was really struggling here. "I promise I'm going to let you cum soon. Just not now."

She might have been able to accept his words at face value, that there was a method to his madness that she'd appreciate "soon" but when she saw the bulge in his shorts, indicating he was getting aroused at how she'd begged him for release, she became irrationally angry. In a moment of confusing rage, she yanked down his shorts to free the growing erection, dropped down to her knees, opened wide and submerged his erection with the warm wetness of her mouth. He moaned like an ungrateful little slut, and that made her even angrier. 

She sucked furiously. He made ugly noises, and breathed heavily, his power over her diminished as she took power over him, finding agency in hungrily devouring his penis. She wasted no time, making short work of him until she felt his body begin to tense. 

And only when she felt that tension in his legs did she abruptly spit his cock out of her mouth. 

"Go take a cold shower," she snapped as she got off her knees and marched away from the throbbing cock she'd drenched with her mouth.

She heard her brother growling as she slammed the door behind her.  

*****

Sansa stared at Jon from across the table as he poured himself a bowl of cereal.

She brought the spoon-full of milk and Honey Nut Cheerios to her mouth. She chewed and swallowed. He poured milk into the bowl and stirred it with his spoon.

"Tonight," he said towards her before he took a bite out of his breakfast.

It was only one word. But that one word filled her with so many different emotions, ranging from relief to frustration. But Rickon was at the table with them, and so was their father. So she remained mute, and spooned more milk and cereal into her mouth.

"Tonight what?" her father asked, before sipping his cup of coffee, while keeping his eyes on the pages of the Wall Street Journal that he was reading.

Sansa and Rickon looked towards Jon. He swallowed what was in his mouth and said "Do we have to dress up for the thing tonight?"

"We go through this every year," their father said. "Yes Jon. You have to wear something nice. Nothing too fancy. Button down, slacks, some brogues."

Arya had made her way down for breakfast as father was finishing up his fatherly explanation on why appearance was important, even for high school stage plays. She butted in immediately. "Can I sit with my friends tonight?"

"We're supposed to sit as a family," father said.

"Yeah but Hot Pie, Lommy, and the Waif are gonna be sitting together and they promised to save me a seat. It's so lame sitting with your parents. Plus we take up like a whole row. It's embarrassing."

Father shook his head with a bitter laugh. "You guys don't want to dress up, don't want to sit together. We might as well not even go."

"Sounds good to me," Rickon said.

"No way," Arya shook her head. "I've been looking forward to the show all year."

"Just don't wanna enjoy it with your family," father smiled at his youngest daughter before relenting. "Fine, sit with your friends."

"Does this mean I still have to dress up?" Jon asked.

Sansa looked at him as he smirked towards her. He was better than her about this lying thing. That was for sure.

While Sansa went to school that day thankful that she was finally going to be able to have an orgasm later that night, it didn't really have the effect on her that she thought it would have. She assumed knowing she had a release on the way would have made it easier. But instead, the anticipation seemed to make the seconds, and minutes, and hours drag on forever.

When she walked down the hallway, she couldn't help but think back to her lucid dream. And seeing each person from the dream made her feel really strange. Like they knew something. Like something about that dream was real. 

She completely avoided even going towards Robb's locker. 

By the time morning gave way to afternoon, and the clock on the wall read 5 minutes after, she was uncomfortably aroused, sitting in her math class, doodling instead of taking down notes.

She looked up at the clock and saw the big hand not even on the 6.

_So if it's' 12:30PM and Jon promises that I can cum tonight, how many more seconds are left before that becomes a lie?_

Sansa sat there and worked out the word problem on her sheet of paper and circled  **41,400 seconds**. Then she started counting,

1...

....2

3...

4...

_Gods, what's wrong with me?_

Today was killing her. She needed tonight to come and stop her from going insane.

While eating lunch with her friends, someone asked the group who all was going to the show that night. Their high school had one of the most prestigious performance arts programs in the city, and put on several productions throughout the year that packed the 2,000 seat theater. The biggest one was the spring production. 

It was the one with the most intense audition process, where the school thespians turned into bitter rivals, the one with the most elaborate props and lighting and sound design and costumes, the one that dealt with more mature themes like violence and death, and often featured several seniors that were on their way to Juliard or Tisch. 

The Spring and Winter show both used to be broadcast on local television, but that had stopped above four years ago, long before Sansa got to the school. Now the school streamed it on their website.

The production was a big deal among the elites that sent their children to the private school. The wealthy lawyers, and doctors, and executives dressed up as if they were going to Broadway, brought their entire families, and made an entire night of watching the artistic kids perform before having dinner somewhere to discuss how great it was. Below the surface of adults simply enjoying a high school play, was a gathering of rich people to celebrate how rich they were, talk about which of their kids got into what school, and spread gossip about each other.

Even when Sansa was a child, she noticed how much her parents actually loathed going to these kind of events and dinners for the sake of appearance. It only got worse whenever Jon moved in with them. Her father had tried to put his best foot forward and take pride in the fact that their family of seven, now was a family of eight, and his oldest son was no longer the charming auburn-haired Robb Stark , but the quiet and distant black haired boy. The gossip spread around quick, and even found its way to the children.

Sansa remembered finger painting with Jeyne and Cersei when her friend looked at her and said "I heard your dad cheated on your mom with a stripper. That's why you Jon lives with you now."

And before  Sansa knew what she was doing, she reacted, leaving her friends face blue, and yellow, and green, and pink, and orange. 

Jon was self aware enough to know that the hushed whispers and curious stares when he walked into a room of the elites were because of him, so it wasn't surprising that he grew to loathe going to these things too. He could dress up in nice clothes and wear expensive cologne, but he couldn't change that he wasn't like Robb or Bran or Rickon. He couldn't change that he didn't share his fathers name. He couldn't wash away the stink of being born a bastard, or that he only came to live with his biological father because the man that raised him was in jail for child abuse and his mother was deemed unfit by a judge.

Now, Jon's sins extended beyond the facts of his birth. Now he was in control of when and where his little sister was allowed to have an orgasm.

"I'm not going," Jeyne said, breaking Sansa's train of thought. "I fell asleep at the last one. Wasn't really worth the hype."

"I'm going because Dickon's entire family is going to be there," Margaery said. "His brother Sam is working the lights or something. And his sister Talla has a small role. So they're all excited. I'm going to sit with them. His mom loves me. But I think his dad is finally starting to come around to me. I hope so." 

With how frequent rumors flew around their small circle of friends and parents, Sansa knew that Dickon's father had probably heard some nasty rumors about Margaery. Or maybe he'd seen the same video that gave Sansa a reputation as a cock sucker. Fucking Cersei.

"Does your grandma like Dickon?" Sansa asked.

"She thinks he's basic," Margaery shrugged. "She thinks I can do better."

"You can," Sansa said. Dickon wasn't terribly bright or charismatic or fun to be around. He was attractive, but according to Margaery, his hobbies only included hunting with his dad, fishing with his dad, watching conservative cable news with his dad, and when he was away from his dad, exploring an ass fetish.

She liked that Dickon was into her so much. He proudly walked her down the hallway, holding her hand, or with his hand around her waist, and sent her texts every morning complimenting her, and generally treated her like a goddess.

Even still, Sansa believed her friend deserved more. Merely liking someone wasn't enough. Margaery deserved to hopelessly love someone. She deserved to love him so much that she would completely throw away her dignity. She deserved to love someone the way she...

Sansa shook her head to block herself from finishing that thought.

*****

Sansa didn't want to draw attention to herself. She wanted to quickly get the night over with so she could get to the 'tonight' that had her on edge, desperate for relief. So she chose a conservative long-sleeve pleated LBD with a hemline just above the knee, something she'd worn to a banquet at her fathers job.

Very little skin. No cleavage, no arms, barely any thighs, or neck.

Somehow, she thought covering herself might help with hiding the sexual energy that pulsed through her. She felt embarrassed that she was so horny. She'd heard of guys getting blue balls, but was there such a thing as blue vulva? 

It had barely been three weeks.  But in that span of time, Jon was consistently dressing her, shaving her, spanking her, playing with her spots, and shooting his load down her throat. And then there were the submissive elements at play that made her hot. Every day was a new source of physical stimulation or mental arousal. But for 23 days now, she hadn't been allowed to relive herself from the sexual highs.

But that ended tonight, she thought as she finished her makeup and looked herself over in the mirror. She wasn't sure how, maybe he'd eat her pussy, or finger her cunt, or watch as she furiously brought herself to orgasm. She didn't really care either. As long as he kept his promise and she got to cum tonight, she would be happy. She could just hardly wait to get there.

When she saw Jon dressed in a black suit, the agonizing anticipation only grew intenser. It made her angry at him. She ignored his compliment of her and continued past him down the stairs. He wasn't getting nice Sansa until he gave her permission to cum. That was that.

She sat next to Rickon and Bran in the wheelchair accessible, 8-passenger van. Robb and Jon sat behind them with Arya, humoring her as she yammered on and on about how she was going to get the leading role in one of the spring plays whenever she got to high school. It wasn't that her dream was unrealistic - Arya was really talented and if she put her mind and heart into it, Sansa was sure that she would achieve her goal. She just wasn't in the mood to hear it at the moment, so she stuffed her ears with air-pods and zoned out to her "good vibes" playlist.

The road was predictably crowded with traffic whenever they reached the school. Once they were parked, father and the older boys helped with Bran, as Arya moved on to telling Sansa and mother about how she hoped to get a leading role her freshman year, which was incredibly rare.

"Let me get a picture now before everyone goes their separate ways," her mother said. It was a smart idea, Robb had brought his backpack with him, which she assumed had a change of clothes. There was a good chance he would leave with his friends to go enjoy the rest of his Friday night whenever the play was over.

Her mother found someone that was kind enough to play camera man with her phone and thanked him after he'd snapped several photos of everyone saying cheese.

"Come on guys, lets go and get good seats," father said to hurry everyone along.

Sansa walked as quickly as she could in heels, her airpods still in her ears, as she drowned out the commotion around her. When they reached the auditorium, Arya tried to split, intending to find her theater friends, but not before their mom made sure she'd be able to find her 12-year-old daughter when it was over.

"Before you go, everyone please turn off the volume on your phones, now. I don't want to hear any chimes or bells during the show," their mother said. Only when everyone had done this in front of her did she turn to Arya and say "Turn your volume up  right after the show ends. I'll be calling as soon as we're done with the standing O. Answer the phone, Arya."

"Yeah, yeah," Arya said before ducking away into the crowd, with her phone to her ear.

"See you guys later," Robb said as dad nodded his way and watched him leave to find his buddies.

Sansa intended to follow her parents and other siblings to the rows for Bran to sit but Jon grabbed her by the hand, took the earbud out of her ear and whispered "You're sitting with me. Up top."

It was clearly a command, not a suggestion. She looked at him without speaking, trying to decipher the blank look on his face, and figure out why she suddenly had a million butterflies swimming in her stomach. It created a dizzying effect, considering she was also annoyingly aroused.

"Hey, we're going to find something a little higher," Sansa said to her mom. She could see the disappointment on her face, as another child decided not to sit as a family.

But it was clear her mother wasn't about to argue over it with so many people bustling into the theater. "Okay, you two. I'll call you both when it's over. Please don't have me chasing after you."

"We won't," Sansa said.

Sansa followed Jon through the crowd and up the theater steps until they were balcony level, which was mostly empty, save for some older students chatting and laughing in the very back.

Sansa sat down where Jon pointed for her to sit, and he took the seat to her right, at the end of the row. More people were moving to the balcony, which squashed any idea Sansa had about Jon bringing her up here for something naughty. She felt both disappointed and relieved, though the disappointment sat harder in her gut.

Maybe he'll pull me away to the bathroom, she thought, as she moved her legs to allow a group of people to scoot past her. She looked at her brother. He still wasn't giving anything away with his face. He looked calm, but he also seemed to be checking out the balcony, who was coming up, and where they were sitting. 

_He has something up his sleeve._

She pulled out her phone to change the song that was playing in her ear, but he snatched her phone out of her hands, told her to put away the air-pods, and tapped into her phone messages. She thought he might have been trying to read her private texts, but she watched him type out a message in a blank box, before he passed the phone back to her.

"You've been amazing the last three weeks. I'm beyond impressed with you."

She read the words, but wasn't sure what to say in response. He pulled the phone back from her and typed another message. "I took that cold shower last night. Thought about going into your room to give you your much deserved release, but decided to draw it out one day longer. I hope you don't hate me. I just find it so hot that u would hold off for so long. Just because I told u to."

She took the phone from him, reading it twice before erasing it and typing her response. "I hate you a little more now than I did 3 weeks ago." She couldn't contain her smirk as she let him read the words. She pulled it back to type more. "Haven't I been good to you? What did I do to deserve this level of punishment?"

He flashed a blink and you missed it smile before typing his response. "Are u horny right now?"

She turned her head to hide her reluctant smile from him. Only after she wiped it off her face did she turn forward and tap out her answer. "Nope."

He gave her a dismissive look before typing "Liar."

They both laughed, then fought for the right to type out the next message but she shoved his hand away and won the battle. "I've literally been counting the seconds to 'tonight' . And I'm not mistaking literally for figuratively. I've literally counted the seconds. That is what you've done to me. You fucking asshole." She finished her message with several middle finger emojis.

His message read: "Well u don't have to wait much longer."

She wasn't satisfied with that. "How much longer is much longer?"

She hated and loved the wicked smile he gave her. He was playing with her chemistry like a mad scientist, and he knew it. He mashed away at her phone and passed it back to her. "What kind of crazy sex dreams have u been having?"

She checked her surroundings. The balcony was truly getting packed now. "Crazy ones," she typed, deciding not to elaborate, and also deciding that passing messages back and forth on her phone didn't count towards their promise to be transparent with each other. If he really wanted to know, he could ask her later.

Instead, she typed "How am I going to cum tonight?" and shoved the phone in his face.

He typed his response but hesitated, looking at her as if unsure about showing her. She gave him a "well?" look but he pretended to put the phone away, shaking his head to suggest she wasn't allowed to see the naughty words on the screen. She was teetering too close to the edge to care that he was just pulling her strings. She was beyond being dignified. She was his puppet now. And she was okay with that as long as he put her out of her misery as soon as he promised he would.  She grabbed for his wrist to read his reply but he kept the phone away from her.

Only after she looked at him as if she might punch him in front of dozens of well dressed rich people did he show her what he'd typed.

"Barefoot and without panties," was what the first line said. The next few lines were blank, then there was some smiling emojis before they got to the next line of words." You're going to start by telling me that you're cold. I'm going to give u my jacket. And when the jacket is over your legs. I want u to slip off your panties and hand them to me. Then I want u to take off your heels. Only then will I let u cum."

They locked eyes with each other. Was he serious about this?  As serious as he had been when he told her to disrobe in their backyard? 

She looked around. 

So many people were piling in.  Men, and women, and girls, and boys, talking and laughing and waiting for the show to start. She found Jon's eyes. She knew deep inside that she would do it. Both because he asked her, and because the reckless, dangerous girl inside her wanted to do it. But she wanted to make sure he was completely serious about it before she made a fool of herself.

She was about to type "are you for real?" but her fingers froze whenever she saw Tywin Lannister moving toward her.  In one completely irrational moment of panic, she thought  _"oh gods, he's coming to scold me for last nights dream"_ but that fear passed after a second, and was replaced by just a general fear of having Tywin Fucking Lannister, dressed immaculately in a perfectly tailored blue suit, marching towards her.

The richest man in King's Landing stopped at the empty seat to her left. "Mind if we sit here?" he asked, looking down on her.

She looked back him and saw his son Tyrion standing behind him. He gave her a nod and smile and she waved before finding Tywin's eyes. 

"No Mr. Lannister, that's fine."

"Thank you," he nodded before  brushing the seat with his hand and sitting down. His scent hit her nostrils almost immediately. He smelled like old money, apple, and spice.

"What I would pay for advanced ticket sales and seating," he said, looking down at the stage before taking a look around him. "This first come, first serve nonsense is archaic. If your board meeting runs a little long, now you're stuck in the balcony." She smiled politely and nodded along. He looked past her and acknowledged her brother. "And how are you doing, Jon? School treating you well?"

"Yes sir," Jon said. "Everything's good."

Mr. Lannister nodded before sitting back and crossing a leg over his knee. He turned towards her, his green eyes fierce even though she could tell he was trying to appear friendly and approachable.  "I assume you and that daughter of mine are still not speaking to each other." She shook her head no. "For understandable reasons," he said with a sharp and humorless chuckle, bringing up that video without bringing it up.

"Is Cersei here?" Sansa asked, mostly to make conversation.

"She's down there somewhere," he pointed, "Mingling among girls that pretend to enjoy her company. She'll probably disown me if she sees me up here, sitting next to you, let alone talking to you." His sigh was short but heavy as he narrowed those fiery green eyes on her. "Such a shame. I know you and Miss Tyrell had your issues with her even before..the incident. But you girls played with dolls together as children.  You've always been a good friend to her. She would never admit it or apologize. She has my pride so I understand. But in the last year, she's grown more bitter. She misses your friendship. I hope one day you can forgive her for her hormone fueled cruelty. For her sake, at least."

She smiled politely, unsure what to say. She thought about Cersei's twin brother Jaime, who was still living in Casterly Rock. Cersei was always a mean girl, even as a little kid she bullied her nanny and housemaids. But after her mother died, and later after Jaime was sent away, that was when she became unbearably mean. That was when being mean seemed to be the only thing that could ever bring her joy.

If Jaime was allowed to come back, perhaps Cersei's icy bitterness would begin to melt. 

But she chose awkward silence over saying those thoughts out loud. Thinking about Cersei being split from her twin brother made Sansa reflect on the moments she started to harm herself. Both events happened within weeks of each other. 

She didn't want to think further on those thoughts, and luckily she was distracted by the lights being dimmed, which signaled that the show was going to start very soon, and got her mind focused back on Jon and this thing he wanted her to do. When Mr. Lannister turned his attention to say something to his son, and she no longer had to make small talk with him, she felt her herself breathe a huge sigh of relief.

It took another five minutes or so before the play actually started. But it felt like ten minutes passed before Jon leaned over and asked, "Are you cold?" a little louder than was necessary. Mr. Lannister even gave the siblings a brief glance. She knew she should have told Jon no, rolled her eyes at him for still pushing for this, and focused back on the girl on stage giving her monologue.

But for some goddamn reason, she nodded her head and rubbed her hands together, the universal "its pretty chilly in here" gesture. It was as if she was the one following a script, doing a performance, pretending to be cold even though she was starting to sweat a little. Was he really expecting her to go through with this? Now? With Tywin Lannister sitting in the very next seat?

When Jon removed his jacket and handed it to her, she tried her best not to cause a distraction as she placed the jacket over her knees, feeling absolutely like a puppet. She found Jon's eyes, and they burned with anticipation,  but she quickly turned her focus back on the stage. This request from him was so, so ridiculous. But why, oh why, did it turn her on so much?

She stared straight ahead, not moving a muscle, looking at the stage, but not registering anything that was going on down there. At some point, she tried to find her parents in the crowd, but after squinting, she realized it was too dark to really tell for sure where they were. That realization caused her to breathe for what felt like the first time in minutes.

_It's dark_ , her mind told her anxiously.  _Really, really dark._  

That was her saving grace. 

_No one is looking at you. And even if they were, no one can see you._

Or can they? She slowly, carefully peaked out of the corner of her eyes at Tywin Lannister. He was sitting with impeccable posture, hands on his lap, the same stern and serious look on his face he always had. He looked absorbed in the action on stage. But could she really be sure?

She moved her hands for the first time since the play started. They were under the jacket, so it wasn't like he could see them. Just as long as she was careful, she could do whatever she wanted underneath the jacket without arousing interest. 

_Anything_ , she thought as she slowly pulled her dress up her knee, and brought her fingers to her lacy panties. She pressed a finger to her clit and gods, that sent a wave of pleasure through her. She was so sensitive, so utterly lost in her desire to be touched. She wanted Jon to be the one touching her, but if that wasn't possible, then her own hands would do just fine.

She gave another look towards Cersei's father. He continued staring at the stage. That gave her enough assurance to slowly - very, very slow - work the front of her panties down. They didn't get far before she realized the logistics of this meant she would have to do more than just move her fingers to make this work. She'd have to lift her butt just a tad to cleanly ease them off her backside. From there, she could pull them to her knees, and let gravity do the rest. 

She took a deep breath, coughed and pretended she needed to adjust herself in the chair to get more comfortable, using that sudden noise and movement misdirection to hide the fact that she'd moved the waist of her panties off her hips with one smooth motion. She left them at her knee caps as she caught her breath and sat back in the chair, eyes focused on the stage, where the male and female leads were arguing about something. 

The play didn't make any sense to her. But it was probably because she was so heavily distracted. 

She waited until some action on stage caused the crowd to clap before she loosed her legs and let her panties fall to the floor. She quickly finished the process by stepping out of them, a foot at a time, until the panties were officially off her body. She felt a sense of satisfaction knowing she'd taken them off. But she also felt really paranoid, knowing they were just laying there on the floor. If anyone looked at her feet, they'd see a pair of white panties. No way she could deny them. They were clearly hers. 

But she was still too nervous to pick them up immediately, so she used the tip of her heel to pull them under the seat, hoping Tywin wasn't noticing all of her movement. Stupidly, her paranoia led to her looking over at him again, but this time, his eyes locked with hers.  

_Oh gods, he caught me looking._

She gave him the kindest smile she could muster, even though she felt at her core that he somehow knew she had taken off her panties. It felt like he looked at her for too long for him to not know what she was up to. But maybe his glare was so strong, that a half a second of eye contact felt like an eternity. 

She released a quiet sigh when he returned his eyes to the stage. And she sat still for what must have been another ten minutes before she allowed herself to move a muscle. And even then, she only moved to look Jon's way because he coughed. Looking at him gave her the courage to lean to her side, towards Jon, and reach down as far as she could to retrieve her lost underwear. She grabbed them with one hand, bunched them into a fist, and quickly moved her arm back inside the jacket over her lap.

She didn't dare turn to look over at Twin Lannister, but she saw out of her periphery that his face was still pointed forward. She dropped the panties in Jon's lap while staring straight ahead,  then maneuvered her feet out of her shoes, to finally complete this request, almost an hour after it had been requested.

She surely wouldn't get points for being speedy, but she'd taken off her panties and shoes right next to the most powerful man in the city. That had to count for a whole lot. She looked at Jon right as her bare feet touched the cold floor. The sensation gave her chills. But the chills couldn't compare to the wet heat building between her legs.

When Jon leaned in and whispered "I give you permission to cum, right now," she closed her eyes and shuddered. She felt so overwhelmed. It was everything, weeks worth of sexual frustration, her desire to submit to Jon, her finally hearing the words she'd been looking forward to for so long, plus the scent of Tywin, the fact that Tywin was right there, the fact that she was sitting in a crowd of people, that her panties were off, and her bare feet were touching the floor, while her hands lay on her bare thighs. It all played a role in why she felt like she was too far gone to fight.

She moved a finger to her slit and was astonished by how wet she was. She found her nub, and had to suppress the strong urge to moan when she felt how swollen it was. When she pushed a finger inside her sticky wet warmth, a gasp fell out of her mouth, even as she held still, and kept her eyes glued to the stage. A second finger joined the first, and within seconds, she had leaned back and spread her legs a little wider to make it easier to massage between her folds and rub her clitoris.

As she worked herself frantically, her wrist going in circles under the jacket, Sansa could hardly believe what she was doing.

She was masturbating.

In a crowd.

Next to her brother.

Next to Tywin Lannister.

But most frightening, was the sudden realization that it felt so good, she knew she wouldn't be able to stop, even if she wanted to. It was almost as if some other person had taken control of her body. Some wanton, reckless, dangerous person. Some slut. She felt like, if she wanted, she could float away from her body and witness this out of body experience from a safe distance.

What would she think if she could look at herself from afar, and see Sansa Stark masturbating? Would she judge her as someone completely out of her mind?

Her lurid dreams from the night before, which hadn't ever completely left her subconscious, came flooding back into the forefront of her mind. She couldn't remember all of the details, or the correct sequence of events. Even memorable dreams tended to have color stripped away and swept into the land of lost memories.

But memorable dreams were bigger than the sum of their parts. She didn't need to remember the specifics to still feel overwhelmed by what the dream made her feel. 

Butterflies, shame, guilt, pleasure, sadness, happiness, helplessness, vulnerability, freedom, bondage, so many conflicting heavy emotions, with the biggest one being the uniquely heavy feeling that she was hopelessly, dangerously in love. And how that feeling felt like racing a sports car down a highway at 100 miles an hour without a steering wheel or brakes installed.

What would happen when she crashed?

When Sansa felt Jon's hand stroking her hair softly, and then felt his thumb dance against her earlobe, she felt like the metaphorical car she was riding in had started to swerve out of control. 

And when she felt his thumb lightly move into her inner ear, the car flipped over a railing, and she knew it was going to be a long way down before it crashed and erupted into flames. 

She had every intention to sit completely still and have a quiet, dutiful, if not soulless orgasm, while keeping her eyes glued to the stage. But when that first spasm took her, she realized she'd made a grave mistake in thinking she could control a raging fire. She imagined she was on stage in front of everyone, rubbing her clit, as another spasm rocked her, and a noise of wanton pleasure leaked out of her mouth. Then another. And another. And she rode out the orgasm like it was a bucking bronco she had no idea how to tame.

It was only when the spasms began to subside did she realize her mouth had been wide open that entire time, and her knee had bumped against Tywin's, and her eyes had been shut tight. She couldn't decipher her immediate emotion post-orgasm, just that she was emotionally exhausted, but her first coherent thought was "oh gods, what have I done?"

She felt sticky and dirty and could swear she no longer smelled her peach scented perfume. She only smelled pussy.

And she had to sit there, surrounded by the smell of her own arousal, wallowing in the shame and afterglow of having an orgasm that was probably obvious to anyone that happened to look her way as she shook with her eyes closed.

It felt like Sansa ran back the complete memory of her explosive public orgasm 100 times before the play finally, mercifully came to an end. 

By then, she was horny again, and probably would have masturbated again if Jon had told her to. 

_I'm a fucking addict._

Fortunately, he left well enough alone. She almost forgot she was barefoot until she stood up to give the actors on stage a round of applause as the crowd stood and cheered and whistled.

"That was quite a performance," Tywin said to her with a smirk on his face.

*****

"You and your brother played a dangerous game," Dr. Baelish said.

"We did," she agreed. "And it wasn't the final time we played that game."

"Sounds a bit compulsive, finding excitement in risking so much." He folded his hands. "You ever stop to think about why you and Jon were willing to take so many unnecessary risks?"

"It was exciting," she shrugged. "Not everything has a deeper meaning." She waited for him to ask another question but instead, he just smiled at her. She was beginning to learn what certain silent looks of his meant. This one, with the kind smile, meant he disagreed with something she'd just said, but wasn't going to voice his opinion unless she asked for it. She didn't want to stick to the script, but she was also curious to hear what he had to say, so she played her part and asked. "So why do you think we took the risks that we took?"

"I think excitement certainly is a straightforward and likely reason," he said. "But your dreams also underscore some of your anxieties.  You've dreamed about being naked in public, and dreamed about having sex in public. You've expressed that these dreams filled you with shame and guilt. But there is also a point where, being exposed, also serves as a kind of catharsis. A reality where you no longer have to hide who you are. Your exposure starts off as a nightmare but then you become defiant and accepting of your exposure, and you end the dream by making love and enjoying it greatly."

She chewed on his words, and tried to think back to all of the risky moments she had with Jon. "So, are you saying we subconsciously wanted to be caught?"

"If you were caught, and the bare naked truth of your relationship with Jon was exposed for all to see, you wouldn't have to hide anymore. Same with the your other dirty secret that you hid underneath your clothes. You spent a great deal of your adolescence hiding dirty secrets that made you feel guilty. That's a lot of stress to carry with you every single day. Your subconscious may have been telling you that it badly needed those weights lifted. And the only way to do that was by being exposed and having your dirty secrets seen and acknowledged."

"My life would have been ruined if those dirty secrets were seen and acknowledged."

He gave a half shrug of his shoulder. "The pain of being exposed would certainly hurt and probably forever change the perception that people have of you. But is that a perception you want saved? Or would there be freedom in it for you? I think it would have ruined a version of your life. A death to the Sansa Stark you feel isn't real. But that inner girl you speak of, she would be allowed to live."  He let her sit with the silence, watching her closely as she considered his theory. Then he leaned back in his chair. "Or maybe you're right and you did it solely because it was exciting to do. No deeper meaning needed. These are just things to chew on."

She thought back to the night of the play, and how Jon had played with her ears on the car ride home, when she took Robb's place in the backseat. They'd been right next to Arya, who at one point looked right at them, but Jon had kept touching her earlobe, and Sansa had kept talking to her parents about a play she barely paid any attention to. It was so incredibly reckless, for two people that paranoid of being caught. But it had also been so, so exciting. And it led to three orgasms when Jon got her alone later on.

"I've never had more explosive orgasms than during that time in my life," she told the man had learned more about her in an hour than most everyone in her life knew in their lifetime. "Jon really knew how to draw them out of me. Big ones, in multiples, too. I've never been able to reproduce that kind of sexual excitement. Everything feels kind of boring compared to the fear of being caught masturbating by the richest man in the city."

"So you've actually tried to reproduce that kind of sexual excitement, with other people?"

"I've been on like 10 Tinder dates. Blind dates set up by friends and family, dates with colleagues, dates with random people that asked me out. I've dated around. But I haven't slept with anyone that isn't named Jon or Robb. I'm attracted to other people, very sexually attracted, but I don't feel the excitement that I need to feel to want to sleep with them. It's incredibly frustrating to watch Jon and Robb go on to have wild and crazy sex with other girls, while pathetic ol me ends tinder dates with a kiss on the cheek before going home to masturbate to memories of sex I had as a teenager."

"That explains some of your resentment," he said. 

"Some? That explains a lot of it," she corrected. "I want to want to have sex with another man. I want to be so turned on by their voice, their presence, their scent, that just being around them is sexually exciting to me. I feel like something is deeply wrong with me because men don't excite me in this way. Men that aren't Robb or Jon."

"You've yet to dive into your sexual history with Robb. But it's clear that so much of your sexuality was molded by Jon's hands. It seems as if it was something Jon actually foresaw, which is why he desired to set boundaries that he wouldn't cross."

"So you see validity in his decision to not kiss me, or take my virginity?"

"I'm not saying this was a logically consistent decision, but I can see how he felt that your relationship with him was so intense, with his bedroom being just down the hall from yours, that he needed to set aside some parts of your sexuality, or put another way, leave a couple of pages blank so that he wouldn't be the author of the entire book, so to speak."

"That's stupid."

"I don't disagree. But you were teenagers with raging hormones. You play golf, horny teenagers making stupid decisions is par for the course." He glanced down at his notes for a moment before bringing his focus back to her. "I do want to touch on your agreement with Jon. Your 11 step program, if you will. You expressed that you wanted this to go beyond satisfying sexual needs. You said you wanted it to make you better, and make him better. One benchmark you wanted to use to measure his growth as a person was in the classroom. You promised him a sexual fantasy in exchange for a flawless report card. How did that go?"

"In other words, you wanna know if Jon got to fuck my pretty little butthole?" she asked even though it didn't need to be asked.

She could see that he wasn't going to respond to the way she'd phrased it. He was such a stickler about not engaging or encouraging her innuendo or flat out overtly sexual banter, even as they thoroughly discussed sexual topics. She wished he would join her in the muck, but if he did, she wondered if she would still respect him? For that matter, would her growing attraction for him continue to grow, if he wasn't the serious professional that she admired him for?

She appreciated that he was being patient with her, and considered apologizing for again being irreverent and flippant. But then again, he was being paid an obscene amount of money to be patient with her. So she took back her appreciation and decided not to apologize, all in the time it took to cross her legs and answer his question. 

"Jon brought home four A's and two B's," she said. She could clearly remember the day that he brought home that report card. It was a memorable day. They went out to celebrate his improved grades that night.

"I imagine he was disappointed," he said. 

"Those were the best grades of his life," Sansa said. "But you're right. He wasn't as happy about the grades as he could have been. He got tripped up on math and science. And I was the one that helped him with his math."

"Did he punish you?" Dr. Baelish asked in a curious, almost scientific tone. "To relieve his frustration?"

"I'm afraid so," she smirked. "Lots and lots of really good punishment. Do you want to know what he did?"

"Is it terribly relevant to the overall root of your problems?" he asked. "Does me knowing the specifics help me to better understand why you're here, seeking to completely sever your feelings for him?"

"It's all relevant," she said. "Every spanking, every orgasm he gave me permission to have, every time he called my his whore or choked me or made me cry. But if you don't wanna hear the details, then..."

"I understand things got really intense sexually and emotionally," Dr. Baelish said. "And I'm here to listen to what you feel compelled to share. But I would like to know where it went wrong. So wrong that you say you wish he never came to live with you."

She didn't tell him that she didn't really mean what she'd said earlier. Sometimes it just felt good to say ugly things that you didn't mean. But she decided against clarifying her remarks because it probably wouldn't even matter to him. He would just think there was a deeper meaning behind why she chose to say it.

Instead of going down that predictable road, she told him what he actually wanted to know. 

"If you really want to know where it started to go off the rails, how about the fact that Jon decided not to renew our little program for another semester?" she threw out there. Saying it out loud made her angry all over again. And it had been almost ten years. "He improved his grades. He lost seven pounds. He made friends in the film club I made him join. So to his eyes, he was all better. So he felt it was fine to wipe his hands clean of our dirty little secret and move on with our lives."

"So that was his reason? He thought he was 'healed' of his darkness?"

"It was one of many reasons he gave for why we shouldn't do it anymore," she shook her head, bitterly remembering how devastated she'd been nine years ago when she and Jon sat down for their final 60 minute talk, and he blindsided her by wanting to stop the incredibly exciting, addicting thing they had. "He thought my mom and dad were starting to get suspicious. He wasn't wrong about that. Dad was dropping hints that we were maybe spending too much time together. And my mom was wondering why me and Jon weren't going on dates. I admit, in hindsight, it did seem strange that one of the most popular girls in school seemed allergic to going on dates."

"In hindsight, sure. But in the moment. How did you feel?"

"Well, he started seeing this girl Val from the film club I goaded him into joining, like right after we stopped what we were doing. How do you think I felt? Like a dumbass. Like a drug fiend going through withdrawal. I traded hurting myself for his punishment and discipline. It gave me a sense of...purpose. To be his as he healed and became better. So what purpose did I have without him? What did it mean if he was all better now, but I still longed to be hurt and controlled by him?"

"You also realized you were in love with him," Dr. Baelish said. At first she thought it was a question, but when she repeated the words in her head and looked at her therapist, it was clear that he'd made a statement.

She nodded softly. "It wasn't just kinky fun for me. I threw all of my being into that perverted boy. I gave him everything there was to give. And he put me aside like I was a toy he didn't find fun anymore. At least that's how it felt to me at the time."

"Did you tell him how you felt?"

"And how would I have done that?" she laughed bitterly. "Hey Jon, I know you just broke things off and want to date a nice pretty girl that isn't your sister, but uh, how about no? Why? Because after getting on my knees for you and swallowing your load, and letting you control when I have an orgasm, and letting you dress me before school, I've kind of developed a dependency on you. I smell your scent in my dreams and need your strange desires and controlled violence so yeah, no, I don't think I can go back to just being little sis. In fact, it would be offensively stupid if you think I could. So, sorry, not sorry. I'm not letting you break it off with me. We're all but married now, bro." Sansa gave Dr. Belish a side eye. "How do you think that would have gone over?"

"Well, you did spend four months being completely honest with him about everything," Dr. Baelish said.  "You and him talked openly about so many difficult topics and seemed to come out better for it. I would think that would have prepared you to be raw and upfront with him about your romantic feelings and addiction to him."

"Brother or not, nothing prepares you for being rejected by your first love," she said. "Nothing ever prepares you for that kind of betrayal."

"You're correct about that," he conceded to that point. "But this obviously wasn't the end of your journey with him. The relationship continued. Was it you that confronted him about your feelings? Or was it him that realized he felt things for you that he couldn't set aside and ignore? And how did your brother Robb get twisted into this emotional web?"

"Think we might have to table that drama for next week," she said, looking up at the clock. "I need more than five minutes to tackle how this escalated."

 

**Author's Note:**

> The "I want to show you something" scene was directly inspired by the song "Inherited Scars" by Sage Francis. My original idea for the story was pretty much sparked from this song.


End file.
